


The PyeongChang Triple

by WelpThisIsHappening



Series: Tripping Over the Blue Line [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-03 22:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 131,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13350537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening
Summary: It’s the Olympics. The. Olympics. And Emma’s running out of post-it notes to write schedules and plans on and there are more games and more expectations and not enough time for any of it. She’s fine. Totally. Absolutely. If she could just sleep. Or stop feeling as if her knees are going to give out every time she stands up. Or get Ruby to stop staring at her like that. It’s fine. After all Killian Jones, captain of Team USA, keeps promising it will be.He’s going to win. Again. At the Olympics. And Killian’s not nervous. Not about that. It’s hockey. He could play hockey in his sleep. Probably. He’s never tried that. But he probably could. And, sure, there are expectations and games and schedules and barely any time for what he wants to actually be doing, but winning a Gold medal isn’t bad. After all, Emma Swan, temporary New York Rangers Olympics team social media manager, keeps promising it will be.They’re fine. They’re going to win. Together.





	1. Chapter 1

“Have you seen this headline?”

Killian glanced up, twisting away from the half-filled suitcase in front of him to turn towards the doorway. Emma held her phone in her hand, arm stretched out in front of her as if he’d, somehow, be able to read whatever was written on the screen.

Packing, it seemed, would have to wait.

“I can’t read that, Swan,” he said, taking a step towards her and his hand fell on her waist before he grabbed the phone.

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move his hand either and he hadn’t noticed the small pile of clothes she had tucked underneath her arm. It made his plan a bit more difficult – to ignore packing and headlines and the flight they needed to be ready for in just a few hours by spending those few hours kissing her instead.

Emma pushed the phone against his chest and mumbled something that might have, at some point, been actual words when he dragged his mouth against her jaw, nose brushing against her hair and the clothes were, suddenly, in a pile at their feet.

“Jerk,” Emma muttered, but he could hear the smile in her voice still. “Now I’m going to have to refold all of those.”

“It does appear that we’re both behind schedule,” Killian laughed, tugging her closer to him until she let out a soft _oof_ when her forehead found his shoulder blade.  
  
“Jeez, no need to be so aggressive, Jones. You have to bring a tie, by the way. Several. Regina will kill you if you don’t.”  
  
“I’m not wearing a tie on a fourteen-hour flight, Swan.”  
  
“So take it off when you get on the plane.”  
  
“And then put it back on when I get off,” he grumbled and he wasn’t sure if that was from the apparent tie requirements or the feel of her against him, her fingers tugging on the front of the t-shirt he still had on.

Emma pulled back slightly, grinning at him before pushing up on her toes to press a kiss against his cheek. “If you know the rules already, Cap, I don’t know why we’re having this conversation.”  
  
“You brought up the ties. And there are three in there already.”  
  
“Three?”

“Are there supposed to be more?”  
  
She twisted her mouth slightly and Killian could practically hear the gears working in her head, tracing back through plans and rules and a schedule that she’d hand-written and put in the middle of the refrigerator a week ago.

Their refrigerator in their apartment with pillows and a Conn-Smythe they still hadn’t moved out of the kitchen.

Five months after moving the boxes and the trophies and a brand-new mattress that they’d picked out together, Killian still couldn’t quite believe any of this was _real_ , a consistent and domestic happiness that seemed to settle in the very center of him every time he opened his eyes to find Emma’s hair in his face.

“I don’t think so,” Emma said, tapping out a rhythm with her fingers against him. “But you might want to grab that one off the Conn-Smythe. You know, just to be sure.”  
  
She did something absolutely _ridiculous_ with her eyebrows, tongue pressed against her teeth while she smiled at him and if he was happy every goddamn day, then he was somewhere in the realm of overjoyed the night before, clothes, literally, flung across the room –  _their room, fuck_ – after another pre-Games event and five months into another season, Emma Swan was still, decidedly, the best thing in his entire life.

“A menace,” Killian accused, lips back on her jaw and down her neck, leaving goosebumps in his wake. She moved against him again, hips hitting his in a very particular way that was not going to help either one of them figure out how many ties he needed to bring to on a fourteen-hour plane ride and a two-week event on the other side of the world.

“If memory serves,” Emma said, just a bit breathless when she draped her arms over his shoulders. “Half of that was your fault. Something about the dress and a distraction and…”  
  
“And how much I was interested in how the dress would look on the floor,” he said and his hands might have tightened around her waist out of instinct or need or something not-quite-scientific.

He loved her more than he expected – still.

“A charmer as always,” Emma said, one of her fingers twisting through the front of his belt loops and it was all he could do to keep his balance. “If you step on any of my dresses though, I’ll probably murder you.”  
  
“So romantic, Swan. I’m swooning, really.”  
  
“You know I came in here with a plan. We do have a schedule to keep to and a car that’s supposed to be here in like,” she glanced down at the phone Killian only vaguely remembered was still in her hands, “forty-five minutes.”  
  
“That seems like quite a bit of time, actually.”  
  
“How much have you packed?”  
  
“Three ties, Swan, we’ve been over this.”  
  
“Yeah?” she asked, using his shoulder as leverage to stare at the mostly-filled suitcase behind him. “Looks like you’re totally on track, Cap.”  
  
“Your clothes are on the floor,” Killian pointed out and if she could do _whatever_ with her eyebrows and her tongue, then turnabout was, absolutely, fair play. And the smirk absolutely worked now.

“That was your fault.”  
  
“So stunned by me that you just drop whatever it is your holding, huh, Swan?”  
  
She scoffed, but her smile seemed to widen and that constant happiness that just existed now seemed to grow tenfold. He almost, _almost_ , didn’t care about the fourteen-hour flight in front of them and what a fourteen-hour flight would be like with Scarlet, a teenager and an eight-year-old who wouldn’t stop singing the National Anthem.

“Man, maybe I shouldn’t show you the headline, there’s no reason to keep inflating that ego,” Emma said, ignoring the noise he made when she stepped back.

“Are you searching out headlines?”  
  
“No, I’m not, honestly. At least not about this. The stuff about the team is work stuff though, which, actually, add that to the list on the fridge because Ruby wanted to send out a blast to e-mail subscribers before we took off later tonight.”  
  
She was halfway back to the door and the kitchen and the list already, lip pulled tightly between her teeth and Killian reached forward to wrap his hand around her wrist, pulling her up short and earning him another scoff for good measure.

“The headline, Swan,” he said, moving his arm back around her waist and tugging her up against his chest. Her hair was in his face again.

“David texted it to me.”  
  
“David needs to find a better use of his time than scrolling through SubReddits.”  
  
“You might like this one, actually.”  
  
Emma twisted around, holding up her phone again and the smile on her face wasn’t the same nervous one that seemed to always accompany headline announcements. Although, Killian realized, there hadn’t been many headlines in the last five months.

Winning the Stanley Cup seemed to answer most questions and, five months into the season, they were sitting in second in the Metro and Phillip was probably going to set some kind of scoring record.

Aurora mentioned it after every game.

It was driving Will insane.

Add that to the list of reasons he was dreading this fourteen-hour flight.

“Come on,” Emma continued, pushing the phone dangerously close to his face. “At least look at it. Plus, this didn’t come from the SubReddit. David led with that.”  
  
“Smart guy,” Killian mumbled as he pulled the phone out of Emma’s hands.

She was right – of course she was. He did like it and that might make him a bit more selfish than he’d like to admit at 1:30 in the afternoon, but he’d never been a New York tabloid superhero.

Killian glanced back down at the headline –  **Captain America: Jones ready to lead Team USA after NHL stalls Olympic moves**.

It wasn’t even a very good photoshop. The skin on his face didn’t match the skin on whoevers neck was part of the body underneath him, but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at it and, well, it wasn’t the worst headline he’d ever been a part of.

“They totally stole my idea,” Emma complained. “Or, well, you know, Henry’s idea.”  
  
“He should sue.”  
  
“Don’t think he hasn’t already told me how mad he is at _The Post_ . Or how Regina’s been thinking about the concept of _intellectual property_ for the last several hours.”  
  
“Henry texted you already about this?” Killian asked and Emma shrugged in response. “Efficient.”  
  
“He reads _The Post_ now, you know. From left to right though. I think he’s trying to protect everybody, it’s almost cute if you think about it that way.“

“Don’t let him hear you say that. And did you say from left to right?”  
  
“Eh,” Emma sighed. “He’ll probably just hit out his aggression. And, yeah, you know, start with sports work your way back towards Page Six and then ignore local news completely.”  
  
“He’s getting really good at that.”

“Ignoring local news?”  
  
Killian rolled his eyes, but Emma just laughed and they were definitely behind schedule now. He absolutely didn’t care. That just meant they could take their own fourteen-hour flight instead of being part of whatever New York Rangers contingent they seemed to be travelling with.

“Hitting. Once you learn how to skate, it’s easy,” Killian said. “Plus, he’s got an entire hockey team ready and willing to show him how to check, so, you know, that helps too.”  
  
“I think Scarlet’s enjoying it all just a bit too much. Henry’s going to set some sort of record for penalty minutes in his league this year.”  
  
“Nah,” Killian objected and he still hadn’t given Emma her phone back. “Hopper won’t let that happen. They’re not big on checking at the Piers.”  
  
“Just you then, huh? Breaking all the rules from the very beginning?”  
  
Killian shrugged. “If you remember correctly, Swan, Liam was the one who checked me. Not the other way around.”  
  
“Yuh huh. Likely story. And you didn’t read any of that actual story did you?”

“No,” Killian said. “I can’t imagine much of it is true.”  
  
Emma clicked her tongue, pulling the phone out of his hands and stuffing it back in her pocket with a very specific type of look – one that made him want to rip up the schedule in the kitchen and use some of his very large max deal to buy an entire fucking plane for themselves.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Emma argued. “It was all true. Actually. Highlights include, Captain America saves the Olympics, gets NHL to change its mind about letting players go and, several speculatory sentences about how many goals you were going to score over the course of the next two weeks. We are, apparently, the front-runner for gold.”  
  
She grinned at him, the force of it making him just a bit weak at the knees and maybe they should have moved to the bed for this conversation. That wouldn’t have kept them on schedule at all.

“I think the entire country of Canada would disagree with that, love,” Killian said. “They’ve developed some kind of gold-medal habit.”  
  
“Yeah, but you weren’t there before.”  
  
“And that’s going to make all the difference is it?”

He did his best to keep his voice light, the joke in his tone and his smirk and Emma wasn’t fooled for a moment. He didn’t really expect her to be.

“I think so,” she said softly, fingers trailing across the collar of his shirt and the side of his neck. “Counts for something, right?”  
  
Killian kissed her and they didn’t have time and the suitcase on the bed was only half full, even if there were three very blue ties sitting in the corner, and he didn’t care. He sighed when his lips met hers and it was as familiar as it had become in the last six months – kisses when they were leaving for work or before games and when he got home in the middle of the night from road trips to find Emma blinking blearily in the corner of the couch with her ring twisted in between her fingers.

It was familiar and comfortable and so goddamn perfect he was half convinced it must have been something he’d dreamed up at some point and just willed into being.

Emma moved against him, seemingly trying to breathe him in and he wouldn’t have objected if she had.

“Everything, Swan,” he muttered. “That counts for absolutely everything.”

“See, that’s the charming I was talking about before,” Emma said, thumb going to the chain around her neck quickly and _that_ might have made Killian’s breath catch and he wasn’t entirely certain how he was still standing.

Or not purchasing private planes to the goddamn Olympics.

“There’s going to be a car here in like half an hour,” she continued. “And you should totally text that article to El, she’ll love it.”  
  
“That’s probably what all the buzzing I was decidedly ignoring before was.”  
  
“Don’t do that to her, she’s got a million things going on with whatever she’s trying to do at work. Ignoring her’s not going to end well. And maybe Anna too. I didn’t read the string of messages in the group chat, but there were a lot of them.”  
  
“Are you group chatting with El and Banana, Swan?”  
  
Emma shrugged, but her eyes were a bit brighter and she tugged on her chain thoughtfully. “Maybe,” she admitted slowly. “They, well, I guess they’ve been doing it forever and they started texting me about the same thing separately so El said there was no point in not including me in some sort of quasi-Vankald group thing.”  
  
Killian’s mouth was hanging open. He knew because he was, apparently, trying to breathe out of it and he wasn’t doing a very good job.

God, he still needed to pack.

They had a gold medal to win and a plane ride to, somehow, survive and maybe they could hang the medal off the Conn-Smythe in the kitchen. It would, at least, spark conversations when Mary Margaret and David showed up.

“Is that cool?” Emma asked and Killian silently cursed himself for whatever complete emotional breakdown he was having in the middle of their room because that might have been the best thing in the entire world.

And it might make whatever plan he half had formed in the back of his mind just a bit easier.

They should probably stop doing these kinds of things around major sporting events.

“Of course,” he promised and Emma sighed softly. “You send ‘em the link, Swan. I’ve still got to pack and find another tie. I’ll answer El before the car gets here.”  
  
“There’s a tie in the kitchen, still. I’ve got to find another bag too.”  
  
“I’ll just put them in mine.”  
  
“Are you sure? You don’t have to stay in the room with me, you know. You’re supposed to have some sort of Olympics experience.”  
Killian groaned, but it was mostly because she’d been so adamant about this. The Olympic _experience_ however, seemed to include a less-than-comfortable village of 20-somethings who were all intent on celebrating any sort of athletic achievement with a copious amount of international sex.

They’d gotten pamphlets on it from USA Hockey.

Phillip was probably still scandalized and Will might have been more entertained by that than any sort of checking Henry was accomplishing on the Piers.

“The only Olympic experience I’m interested in, Swan, is an actual hotel room and the ability to fall asleep. Which, as previously discussed, is somewhere in the realm of impossible when you’re not there. So, yes, I am sure and I am not interested in the Olympic Village or anything that requires some kind of pamphlet to explain.”  
  
Emma laughed softly, nodding as she grabbed the dresses that were still on the floor. “That wasn’t just charming, that was romantic too. Good job, Jones.”  
  
“You act like this is some kind of change of pace, Swan.”  
  
“Jeez, maybe I shouldn’t have shown you the headline. You won’t be able to fit the ego on the plane. It’ll ground us before we even take off.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”  
  
“Whatever. I’ll go get your tie.”  
  
She pressed a kiss against his cheek before she left, squeezing his hip and it took every ounce of self control Killian wasn’t sure he had to not pull her back against him and make every effort to miss their flight.

Or he would have, if his phone didn’t start to ring.

Killian rolled his eyes, groaning as he stalked towards the sound and he could barely hear Emma’s soft laugh at the other end of the hallway. He grabbed the phone without even looking at the name on the screen, certain it was Robin or Will, both of them demanding to find out when he was getting to the airport and how many ties he was bringing.

“Yeah,” Killian snapped, swiping his thumb across the phone. The immediate tongue click on the other end was enough sound to prove it wasn’t Robin or Will.

“What could you possibly have to be frustrated about right now?” Elsa asked, disbelief in her voice and something that sounded like a frustrated baby in the background. Or that might have just been Anna.

“Maybe he wanted to be a different superhero,” Anna suggested knowingly and Killian rolled his eyes again, dropping onto the edge of the bed and only just missing the half-filled suitcase in front of him.

“Shut up, Banana,” Killian mumbled. She just laughed in response.

“I thought it was a pretty good mock-up. I mean, not as good as the programs Emma made, but, you know, for _The Post_.”  
  
“And just how is it that you’ve read _The Post_ already today?”  
  
“They’ve got this newfangled thing called the internet, KJ. It’s crazy. You can be in a completely different city and, somehow, manage to read _Post_ headlines. You should check it out sometime, it’ll absolutely blow your mind.”  
  
“There’s no need to be a jerk about it,” he muttered, running an anxious hand through his hair and he could hear Emma in the kitchen, the sounds of the coffee-maker coming to life making their way down the hallway.

He didn’t have time for some sort of intervention from both Elsa and Anna. He had a flight to be on and Olympic gold medals to, maybe, win and a plan he was only half-certain was a good idea to get underway.

No, no, it was definitely a good idea.

The best idea.

The only idea that had made sense for the better part of the last year and a half. There was no reason to be worried. He could put that worry to better use on the ice and against Team Canada and making sure Scarlet didn’t drive everyone insane on a fourteen-hour flight across most of the goddamn world.

It was going to be fine. He was, somewhere, in the realm of confident about that. He didn’t need the combined efforts of Elsa and Anna to assure of him that.

And he didn’t want Emma to hear this conversation.

“Don’t do that, Anna,” Elsa chastised quietly, muttering out the words in between pleas of _c’mon, Lizzie, quiet, just a few minutes while we talk to Uncle Killian_. “He’s already worked up enough without that.”  
  
“I am not worked up,” Killian argued and there was a loud scoff on the other end of the phone. “Are you even really there, Bannana? Or did El just finally descend into complete madness and we’ve all started calling each other on multiple lines?”  
  
Anna howled with laughter and Lizzie didn’t seem to appreciate that. Neither did Elsa. “Oh my God, KJ,” Anna laughed. “You really are the oldest person alive, aren’t you? Super grumpy about technology. It’d be almost endearing if I knew you weren’t trying to deflect.”  
  
“I’m not trying to deflect. That was you. And that wasn’t an answer.”  
  
Elsa groaned. “Will you two stop it? Honestly just have a normal….”

She didn’t get a chance to finish, Anna’s voice picking up several octaves when she started shouting at Killian from a still-to-be-determined location. “I am not, KJ! That’s all you and I know why and you know why and Emma probably knows why and…”  
  
“Did you say something, Banana?”

They should probably stop interrupting each other. These half-sentences and half-formed thoughts were making him more nervous than he already was and he was already somewhere in the realm of terrified.

A bed creaked somewhere, Lizzie still fussing loudly on the other end of the line as Elsa clicked her tongue again. They were a mess of a family.

Maybe that was why he was nervous.

Killian wouldn’t have been surprised if Liam was somewhere nearby, shoulders shaking with laughter as he muttered about how he _knew_ his little brother was scared of the Olympics and everything that, he hoped, could happen there.

“Of course not,” Anna snapped and Killian could hear the _hurt_ in the three words. “I wouldn’t do that.”  
  
“I honestly don’t think she has any idea,” Elsa whispered.

Killian sighed, running a hand over his face and pressing his fingers into the skin just underneath his eyes. Captain America, it seemed, was a bit terrified of fucking everything up with a few words and one moment and he should really come up with a better plan.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Anna scoffed again. “Seriously, Banana, I know you wouldn’t do that.”  
  
“Certainly didn’t seem like it.”  
  
“I know, I know. I’m just…”  
  
“Worried?”  
  
“Terrified seems like a much better word. Don’t tell Liam that.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter, he totally knows.”

He resisted the urge to actually fall back onto the mattress – certain he’d just hit the suitcase instead and that would probably just hurt his back and he didn’t have time for injuries. Half of his argument in getting the NHL to stop being complete assholes about the Olympics was promises of no injuries and they weren’t even really supposed to check each other once they got to the Games.

Will wasn’t happy about that either.

“It’s going to be fine, KJ,” Elsa promised and he knew she wasn’t talking about getting out on the ice. “It’s not like it’s completely out of nowhere.”  
  
“Oh, oh, out of left field,” Anna yelled, likely bobbing on her feet from wherever she was actually calling from.

“Too easy,” Killian laughed. He needed to pack. He needed to make sure whoever was in charge of luggage on this flight understood how important this one piece of luggage was and maybe he should just keep it in his pocket the entire time.

He’d set the metal detector off.

Did they have to go through a metal detector?  
  
It was a chartered flight. Maybe he could just tell security? Or Regina? Or Ruby? They were, somehow, in charge of all of this.

No, he couldn’t tell them – this team talked too much and talked about each other too much and Killian was determined not to leave any of this to fate.

There was a plan.

He was going to stick to the plan. And he wasn’t going to let the New York Rangers Olympic contingent ruin it for him. Or announce his intentions on the ice before he got to.

They would absolutely do that.

“Ah, whatever,” Anna grumbled. “There are only so many sports cliches to work with, KJ. So come on, spill. How you going to do this?”  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“KJ!” He wasn’t sure who yelled loudest – Elsa or Anna – and maybe he’d done it mostly for the reaction or possibly for the distraction and there’d be a car outside sooner rather than later. This conversation was lasting far too long.

“God, will you two relax?” he asked, chancing a glance towards the door and Emma hadn’t come back from the kitchen yet. “Is that what this phone call was about to make sure I had a plan?”  
  
“Do you?” Anna challenged and he made a noise in the back of the throat. “Oh, that sounds like no plan.”  
  
“I have a plan.”  
  
“Then what is it?”  
  
“Banana, seriously, I need you to take, at least, ten steps back right now. I don’t even know where you are and I can hear the gears working in your head. You are not in charge of this. You don’t get to plan this entire thing.”  
  
He could practically _hear_ her shoulders sagging, the breath rushing out of her in some kind of hybrid sigh-groan that had him smiling before he could stop himself. “I don’t expect to plan the whole thing,” Anna muttered.

“I’m serious, Banana. No lofts. No Fifth Ave. No telling Emma.”  
  
She practically growled at him and Killian’s smile shook for half a moment. Maybe he was mostly terrified of anna. “No lofts? KJ, where do you expect to do this if you’re not going to do it at a loft? It’s so much easier. You transition from the ceremony to the reception and it’s all one space and…”  
  
“No, Banana,” Killian said sharply and Elsa made a noise. “Ten steps back. At least.”  
  
“But!”  
  
“Anna,” Elsa said quietly, cutting her off before she could start her quick descent into an opinion on dresses and hemlines that Killian was sure would lead him to back out of the Olympics entirely. “Why don’t you go make sure the twins haven’t torn the living room apart?”  
  
“Aw, c’mon. We haven’t even talked about setting a date!”  
  
Killian fell back on the bed, the suitcase shaking just a bit from the force of his overly dramatic move, only vaguely listening to what Elsa was saying and Anna was yelling and it had to be the summer, that was obvious. Even he knew the answer to that part of the not quite-formed-yet plan. He should probably ask Emma first.

Anna grumbled before she, finally, muttered something that might have been an agreement and Killian heard the phone change hands before she started talking again.

“I want a detailed description of the entire thing, KJ,” she said and it didn’t sound like a suggestion. “Minute by minute updates. Where you’re going to do it and when you’re going to do it and then I want several photos of Emma’s face while you’re asking.”

“I’m going to be kind of busy, if this goes the way I’m hoping it will, Banana.”  
  
“Ew, gross.”  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
“Don’t ask on the ice, ok? That’s just, like, almost too cliché.”  
  
“Weren’t you all about that before? Out of left field and planning ceremonies in lofts.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
“I think you’re deflecting again.” Anna groaned and Elsa chuckled softly in the background, murmuring towards Lizzie again. Killian still hadn’t actually sat up. “How come you didn’t tell me you were there?”  
  
“It was kind of short notice,” Anna said. “I’ve got two weeks off and I haven’t seen El and Liam in a while and I’m obviously Lizzie’s favorite so I figured…”  
  
“She figured she’d camp out in the guest room for two weeks so all of us could watch you win a gold medal together,” Elsa interrupted and Killian’s stomach did something absurd.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“For sure.”  
  
“You better win, KJ,” Anna added. “This whole plan is going to be for naught if you guys get like...bronze or something.”  
  
“It’s still an Olympic medal, Banana.”  
  
“Yeah, but it’s not gold. Oh, wait, no is Emma’s ring gold?”  
  
Ah, there it was. They’d been dancing it around the whole conversation – mentions of ceremonies and lofts on Fifth Avenue and _the plan_ like that was its official name – but none of them had actually used any of those very specific, vaguely terrifying, very concrete words.

Of course it was Anna.

“Shout it a little louder, why don’t you, Banana,” Killian mumbled. “I don’t think she heard you in the kitchen.”  
  
“I didn’t shout it. That was a real question.”  
  
“And one I’m not going to answer with Emma down the hallway.”  
  
“So you have a ring then?”  
  
“Of course I do,” Killian sighed, flinging his forearm across his eyes in some poor attempt to block out this conversation entirely. His phone was buzzing in his hand. It probably really was Robin or Will now. They were going to be late.

“Gold?”  
  
“Banana.”  
  
“Just say a color, KJ. One word is not going to ruin your whole life.”  
  
“Weren’t you supposed to be watching the twins several hours ago?”  
  
“They’re fine,” Anna answered and he was certain she’d brushed her hand through the air for good measure. “They’re playing video games with Liam. It’s adorable and hockey-related and it doesn’t matter at all. One word, KJ.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“No to the word or if it’s gold?”  
  
“The second one.” The shriek that came from Colorado had done permanent damage to his eardrum, Killian was certain. And it wasn’t just Anna. “Jeez, both of you, relax. You’re honestly freaking me out more. This is not…”  
  
“If you say this isn’t a big deal, KJ, I will walk to New York and kick you in both of your shins,” Elsa hissed.

He hadn’t moved his arm away from his eyes – it was getting warm – and his phone buzzed again. Killian groaned, pushing back up and off the bed and grabbing a pair of dress pants from a hanger in the closet. “Both, El? That’s aggressive. And you can’t walk to New York right now. We’ve got a flight in a couple of hours.”  
  
“That was hyperbole and you know it.”  
  
“I don’t know, you guys are acting kind of crazy.”  
  
“We’re excited,” she sighed. “And you’re…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Happy.”  
  
He couldn't even argue. There wasn’t any point. It was obvious. Everyone knew. He was happier than he could ever remember and they were going to the fucking _Olympics_ and maybe he’d keep the ring in his pocket.

Just to be safe.

And then maybe he could just ask...whenever.

Like as soon as they got on the plane.

He was an anxious ass – who knew what he wanted and how long he’d wanted it and that the decidedly not-gold ring would look somewhere close to perfect on Emma’s hand.

There was a noise on the other end of the phone – screaming five-year-olds and Liam shouting something that might have been _that was absolutely offsides, how could a computer miss that_ and Killian laughed under his breath, well aware that Elsa and Anna were still listening to him and probably smiling.

“A color, KJ,” Anna said again. “Give me a color. Or, at least, a stone.”  
  
“That second one is too obvious,” Elsa muttered. “Emma will hear.”

“So? It’s not like she’s going to say no. Maybe he should just ask her now and then there won’t be this weird _thing_ hanging over them while he tries to get ready for the Games.”  
  
“Did you just call an engagement a _thing_?”

“That’s what it is isn’t it? What else would you call it?”

Elsa made a skeptical noise, sounding as if she was stunned by the words coming out of her sister’s mouth. “Romantic, obviously. I’m surprised you haven’t broken into song about it yet.”  
  
“Ok, first of all, that’s rude. I come here and I look after your kids so you and Liam can get a couple of hours of sleep and all I want is to know what color the ring is! And, you know, maybe a detailed play-by-play of everything that happens before during and after the proposal. But that hardly means I’m going to start singing about it.”  
  
“You haven’t done anything with the kids except eat pizza with them last night!”  
  
“Blame KJ, then, since I can’t leave this conversation before he answers my question.”  
  
Elsa groaned again and Lizzie was making it painfully obvious she did not enjoy the amount of noise in the room around her, practically howling when Liam joined the fray. “Everything ok in here?” he asked.  
  
Killian leaned against the side of the closet door – ignoring the sounds his phone kept making and whatever schedule he was late for – and took a deep breath, the movement settling the nerves and the want in the pit of his stomach.

“You guys are something else, you know,” he said softly.

“That’s not a color,” Anna accused as Liam made some sort of skeptical noise in the background.  
  
“Oh,” Liam said. “It’s silver and a diamond. Right, Killian?”  
  
He was met with a pair of vaguely scandalized _what_ ’s screamed in his face and a still-crying-infant and Killian could only thank several different religious figures that this phone call hadn’t been on FaceTime.

He didn’t think he’d be able to handle that.  
  
“Thanks a lot, Liam,” Killian mumbled and Liam just hummed in response.

“Were we not all aware of that?”  
  
“No,” Elsa and Anna shouted at the same time, voices melding together in a quick succession of questions and demands and Liam’s laugh had turned just a bit nervous now.

Good. Served him the hell right.

“KJ,” Elsa said slowly as Anna continued to bombard Liam with questions and, what sounded like, several punches to his shoulder. “Did you ask Liam to help pick out a ring?”  
  
Killian scuffed his foot along the floor, running his hand through his hair and tugging until he had to bite his lip to stop himself from wincing in pain. “No,” he answered quickly, far too quickly. “At least not entirely. He called and I was thinking about it and…”  
  
Elsa made an understanding noise and Killian winced anyway. “You don’t have to be nervous,” she said and it sounded like a bit of a promise.

“No? Seems like a pretty big deal, El.”  
  
“It is. That doesn’t mean she won’t say yes. Probably enthusiastically. Even if you do do something stupid and propose on the ice.”  
  
He sucked in the air at _that_ word, sinking his teeth into his lip and scratching just behind his ear. “I’m not going to propose on the ice,” Killian whispered, eyes darting towards the door as soon as the word was out of his mouth.

Elsa giggled – actually giggled, an excited, overwhelmed type of sound and Killian’s eyes widened from the surprise of it. “Don’t put it in your luggage,” she said.

“I won’t.”  
  
“Good. And, you know, have some fun too.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
He hung up – echoes of _win gold_ and _score lots of goals_ and Liam laughing about, seemingly, everything – and his phone vibrated again.

It wasn’t Robin or Will or even Regina. It was David.

Of course it was.

**_Did you do it yet? You can’t tell me that this is happening and then just expect me not to ask all the time. Because you should do it. Soon. Obviously. And then tell me. Because not telling Mary Margaret is actually the most difficult thing I’ve ever done and I still remember everything that happened on Poker Face night._ **

Killian grinned in spite of whatever frustration he might have felt at the string of messages, finally zipping the suitcase closed after grabbing a box out of the corner. He’d stuffed it in between two ties.

**You need to relax, David.**

**_That’s not an answer._ **

**No, obviously. And probably not until we land. Seems kind of normal to do it in our apartment, don’t you think?** **  
** **  
_I just need to know when it happens so Mary Margaret won’t start sending Emma wedding ideas immediately. We can’t afford that kind of phone bill._ **

**That’s not how the internet works.**

**_I don’t care. You should ask her in between rounds. Like after pool, but before the medal rounds. Then it’s not just...hanging over you._ **

**Why does everyone keep saying that?**

**_Are they?_ **

Killian groaned – loud enough that Emma shouted his name and that was the opposite of what he was trying to accomplish. “You ok?” she asked, leaning around the doorframe. He barely had time to pull his hand behind his back.

“Fine” he answered and she twisted her eyebrows. “I found your tie. It got knotted around one the leaf-type things. Aren’t you supposed to give that back, soon? Put it in the Hall of Fame or something?”  
  
“Swan, are you suggesting I should be in the Hall of Fame?”

Emma rolled her eyes, crossing her arms lightly over her chest as she took a step into the room and moved towards the zipped-up suitcase. “Please,” she said. “With that ego, I’m surprised you haven’t put yourself on the ballot already.”  
  
She leaned forward, unzipping the bag and stuffing the tie in and he shouldn’t be as _nervous_ as he was. He was going to cut his palm open with the edge of the box clutched in his hand. Killian chewed on the inside of his cheek, not even able to come up with some kind of response that wouldn’t just be a half-shouted, half-thought out proposal.

His phone buzzed again.

Maybe he could get Elsa to walk to New York and kill David.

“You sure you’re ok?” Emma asked and he tried to push the box into his back pocket when she started walking towards him. “Scarlet won’t be too obnoxious on the flight. It’s going to be fine.”  
  
“I’m not worried about Scarlet.”  
  
“So then share with the class. You’re doing that thing with your face.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love. I’m fine. Better than fine if this car would get here on time.”  
  
As if on cue, a pair of heels clicked down the hallway and Ruby Lucas appeared in their bedroom doorway wearing a shirt that, at first glance, appeared to be just the United States flag. Her highlights, somehow, looked even more red.

“Did I mention Ruby is here too?” Emma asked, eyes widening meaningfully.

“Hey, Jones,” Ruby said knowingly, smile tugging on the corners of her mouth and he was half certain she had x-ray vision or the ability to read minds or maybe David just needed to tell _someone_. God damnit. “Ready to win a gold medal?”

Emma threw him a sympathetic glance, fingers tugging on the front of his shirt as he traced his thumb over the chain around her neck. “You ready to go?”  
  
Ruby raised one eyebrow, grin widening into something almost predatory. This whole team was stupid. Maybe he should just ask her on the plane, if only to get everyone off his back.

No. Romance. This was going to be romantic. There was a plan.

“Yeah, Swan,” Killian said, pulling the suitcase off the bed and ignoring whatever Ruby was doing with her face. “Let’s go win.”  
  
It was a chartered flight – the entire New York Rangers Olympic group filing onto the thing with half-tired faces and carry-on bags and sporting more team-merch than any group of people should – and they didn’t take off until nearly nine, something about _sleeping through the flight_ being part of the plan.

Killian only half listened and he didn’t really fall asleep.

None of them did, just grumbling throughout the flight as any of them tried to find a way to comfortably fall asleep on a plane and there wasn’t one.

Emma sighed, tugging her legs up underneath her legs and pulling her sweatshirt –  _his sweatshirt_ – over her knees as she dropped her head on Killian’s shoulder. He worked his arm around her out of instinct, tugging her against his side and kissing her hair.

“You’re comfortable,” she mumbled like it was an excuse and it must have been close to three in the morning. They were probably over an ocean.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Swan.”  
  
She laughed softly, burrowing against him until he could feel her nose against his neck and her hand had found its way underneath the edge of his t-shirt, fingers skimming across skin. “God, how are you warm? It’s freezing on this plane.”  
  
“Climate controlled. Just repurposed oxygen or whatever.”  
  
“When did you become some kind of plane expert?” Emma whispered, but he could hear the smile in her voice. He could _feel_ it, her lips against his skin and maybe _this_ counted as romantic. Somewhere over the ocean or maybe Europe and the ring hadn’t set off the metal detector, a quick explanation muttered to the security guard before they walked onto the tarmac what felt like an eternity ago.

God, Anna was right. It was all he was going to think about for the next two weeks.

“Hook,” a voice came from a few inches away and Killian turned to find a disheveled Roland Locksley in the aisle.

“Yeah, mate?” Killian asked and Emma sat up a bit straighter. She didn’t move her hand.

“Are you awake?”  
  
Killian let out a strangled laugh and Emma pressed her lips together tightly, leaning across him to brush her fingers over Roland’s forehead. “Can’t you sleep, Rol?” she asked.

Roland shook his head. “Dad and Gina are I think. Their eyes are closed, at least, and Henry keeps trying to steal my armrest.”  
  
“Didn’t you get the window seat, mate?” Killian asked and Roland shrugged. He had. “Did you climb over Henry to get over here?”  
  
“He didn’t really wake up,” Roland explained. “And you guys are awake.”  
  
“Why don’t you come up here with us,” Emma said, hand finding Roland’s as she pulled him towards the tiny amount of space between their seats when she sat back up. And Killian’s heart might have moved into his throat or possibly his stomach or maybe it had fallen into whatever ocean they were possibly flying over.

Roland nodded slowly – as if that hadn’t been why he’d shown up in the aisle in the first place – stepping on Killian’s foot while he worked his way in between them. Emma didn’t move her legs, pulling Roland against her front while he swung in his legs over Killian and they were some sort of weird, pretzel-limb hybrid that was actually almost comfortable.

“Hook,” Roland muttered again after a few moments and Killian saw Emma smile out of the corner of his eye.

“Go to sleep, Rol.”

“I’ve got a question, though.”  
  
“Ask your question,” Emma said softly and Roland nodded against her shoulder.

“Are we going to win again?”

Killian felt Emma’s eyes dart his direction and tapped his fingers quickly on Roland’s jeans. “Yeah, mate,” he said without a shadow of doubt. “We’re absolutely going to win.”

Roland mumbled something under his breath, stretching out over both Killian and Emma. “That’s what I thought,” he said.

They fell asleep fairly easily after that.

The plane landed at some ungodly time that might have actually been the middle of the afternoon and Killian, simply, didn’t have the energy to try and figure out the time difference, blinking blearily when Ruby announced they needed to move.

“Who put you in charge, Lucas?” Will grumbled, swinging his bag over his shoulder with more force than necessary.

“The National Hockey League,” Ruby answered as she kicked at his ankles. “C’mon Scarlet. Up and at ‘em. We’ve got breakfast to eat.”  
  
The entire plane might have groaned and there were more than a few _sorry, Rol_ and _sorry, Henry_ when several of them started cursing Ruby and her plan and the National Hockey League. Emma widened her eyes when Killian muttered something under his breath.

“It’ll be fine,” she said, fingers lacing through his and her thumb brushed across the back of his left hand. He smiled at her.

“Of course, Swan.”  
  
Ruby tapped her shoe impatiently, nodding towards the open door and the tarmac and, likely, the fleet of cars waiting to take them to a restaurant and Killian was momentarily stunned by how detailed this plan was.

Maybe he should be taking notes.

He could ask Emma in the car. They’d probably be by themselves.

No, they wouldn’t.

Of course not.

“Can we go, please?” Ruby snapped and the entire group groaned at the command in her voice. “God, guys, come on. This is not that bad. We’re in the Olympics.”  
  
“We’re tired,” Killian muttered. “And some of us would like to shower.” He glanced towards Emma, enjoying the way he could practically see the blush move up her cheeks and the back of her neck. She rolled her eyes at him.

And Ruby did not look impressed.

“Shut up, Cap,” she said, pushing on Robin’s shoulder like that would, somehow, get all of them to start moving. “Come on, we’ve got a schedule to stick to. And I’m starving.”  
  
They didn’t have much choice to listen – Robin, finally, taking that first step with Roland hanging against his side, Regina and Henry just a few feet behind – and they must have painted a very specific picture on their way off the plane and into the cars and, eventually, the restaurant.

“Alright,” Ruby said, leaning forward with her palms pressed flat against the table and she barely missed a beat when the whole lot of them just kept eating. “Hey,” she snapped, hitting her water glass down with enough force to shake the slightly rickety table. “Eyes up here.”  
  
“Teacher voice,” Emma mumbled and Killian didn’t think she kept leaning against his side because she was exhausted. “You been talking to Reese’s, Rubes?”  
  
Ruby glared at her. “Whatever, Emma. I need you guys to listen. There are rules here and plans and we’ve got to talk about them before you all dissolve into post-breakfast puddles of nonsense.”  
  
“This is not your best speech, Lucas,” Will said, tugging Roland up so he didn’t fall off his leg. He’d fallen asleep somewhere in between the initial rounds of coffee and the food.

“God,” Ruby groaned, half-shouting the word as she rolled her head back towards the ceiling. “I hate all of you. I hope none of you get out of pool play. Except you, Phillip. You can stay.”  
  
Phillip looked momentarily stunned that he’d been called out, eyes widening and he nearly dropped his mug. “Uh,” he stuttered, staring at his plate. “Thanks, uh, thanks Ruby.”  
  
Will didn’t look impressed. “Lucas, he’s not even American. You can’t pick him as your favorite. That’s unpatriotic or something.”  
  
“I mean, that’s not totally true,” Phillip argued. “I am American. I’m just not playing for the United States during the Games.”  
  
“Explain that to me again,” Robin said, suddenly interested in the conversation once he finished the cup of coffee in his hand. It was, at least, his third. Killian had only been half counting. “And how you’re still going to stay with Scarlet in the Village when you’re not actually American?”  
  
Phillip rolled his head onto his shoulder and Ruby almost looked sympathetic. Or just tired. “I’m American,” he continued. “But my mom is from Lithuania and still has citizenship and so I could play for them. It got me here, that’s it.”  
  
“And he gets to stay with Scarlet because the Olympic committee is very easy to persuade,” Regina added. Robin grinned at her, arms around her and Henry and if Killian didn’t know there was a goddamn _ring_ in his pocket, he probably would have walked away from all of this family.

But he couldn’t quite get the image of Roland curled up against Emma out of his mind and maybe he’d ask her when they got back to the hotel.

_God_.

This shouldn’t be difficult. This should be as easy as everything else had been – as talking and kissing and he couldn’t fall asleep without her next to him and all he wanted was that indefinitely...for the rest of his life.

Seemed simple enough.

It wasn’t.

“Cap,” Ruby snapped and he nearly dislocated his shoulder moving up to look at her.

“Yeah?”  
  
“Did you even hear a single thing I just said?”  
  
“No,” Killian answered honestly and Emma tried not to laugh too loudly. It didn’t work at all. “Sorry, Ruby. Go ahead.”  
  
“I was. You were just ignoring me.”  
  
“Well, circle back around or something.”

Ruby sighed and Emma’s fingers had found their way into the back of his hair, nails scraping lightly across the base of his skull – and that wasn’t doing much to keep him focused, or awake. “Fine,” Ruby hissed and the whole table seemed to snap to attention. “We’ve got tomorrow off so we don’t all pass out somewhere and then you guys have media on Tuesday. Wait, wait, is that Tuesday? How does time work here?”  
  
“It’s not a different universe, Lucas,” Robin mumbled.  
  
“Isn’t this your schedule, Rubes?” Emma asked. “And, yes, media is on Tuesday.” Killian flashed her a smile over his shoulder and she rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t quite stop the ends of her lips from moving up and her fingers didn’t stop tracing out a pattern through his hair.

“Well, good thing you know,” Ruby continued. “Since you’re in charge of the four of them.”  
  
Killian rolled his shoulders – he was going to hurt his neck if he stayed twisted around like this. “Rubes is doing most of the Team USA stuff and I’m just in charge of us.”  
  
His pulse thudded at _that_ and he was half certain she could hear it, but they were still a table in a restaurant he didn’t know the name of and there was still another two hours before they got to hotels and that shower he’d been so anxious for.

Ruby hit her glass again and there was, apparently, more to the schedule. “So, Ems is doing you guys and getting you to media and we do that on Tuesday and then opening ceremonies that night and if you guys don’t wear your country-appointed outfits I will kill you all, slowly and painfully. Except you Phillip, you’re not American.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Phillip muttered, but Ruby hardly missed a beat.

“Opening ceremonies Tuesday night, then we get another day and you should probably sleep, but, maybe try and learn something too in between more media, then pool play starts on Wednesday and, again, if you guys don’t roll, I’ll kill you.”  
  
She paused for half a moment, leveling the table with a very specific type of stare, as if she were waiting for any of them to object. They didn’t.

“Scarlet and Phillip have agreed to do a video series in the Village since they’re the only ones willing to have some sort of Olympic experience and Emma’s in charge of that too,” Ruby continued.

“More like we were told we were going to do a video series,” Will muttered and Emma glared at him, mouthing the words _shut up_ across the table.

Ruby didn’t blink. “The actual, important rounds start next week. We’ll probably play Phillip’s non-American country if the brackets play out the way they should and if that happens, then we’re absolutely going to do a team thing about that. Right, Em?”  
  
“Right,” Emma agreed. Her hair had found its way into Killian’s face, her back pressed up against his chest when his arm found its way around her waist and Robin kept shooting them furtive glances over large piles of breakfast food.

“Then there’s more media during that second week, more videos, we should probably take Henry and Rol somewhere so we’re not all the worst group of adults in the world and, then, you guys win a gold medal. Sorry, Phillip.”

Phillip shrugged once and Will pushed up from the table as soon as Ruby’s mouth was closed. “Sounds great, Lucas,” he said, tugging down his Team USA-provided hat with as much energy as someone who’d slept in spurts the night before could. “Can we get going though? If I have to watch Cap and Emma stare at each other anymore I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”  
  
“We’re not even looking at each other,” Emma argued. She tried to move, tried to sit up and, probably, get her hair out of Killian’s face and he didn’t let go of her – if anything he tightened his arm, kissing the top of her head until the scent of that vanilla shampoo she was obsessed with had worked its way _into_ him.

Definitely in the hotel room.

Maybe after the shower.

Preferably before they both collapsed from exhaustion and jet-lag.

“No, no this is good for the team,” Ruby countered “That picture of them with Roland is going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to any of us.”  
  
“Well, on that note,” Killian said sharply and Emma moved with him as soon as he stood up. “Can we go, please, Lucas?”  
  
Ruby stared at him and for half a second Killian was convinced she was reading his mind. Her eyes flitted across his face, head tilted slightly like she was thinking something important, but she didn’t actually say anything, just nodded towards the door and the cars and the two-hour drive in front of them.

Killian hummed in the back of his throat, arm till looped over Emma’s shoulders and none of them moved very quickly, trudging across the restaurant in a sea of red, white, blue and a Team Lithuania jacket.

Someone shouted _good luck_ at them, a flag waved towards them and they hadn’t gone very far from the airport. That was probably why the restaurant was ready for them.

The car doors were already flung open when they made their way outside and Emma climbed into the back, grumbling about _warm_ and _tired_ and Killian was half a step behind her before Robin caught him around the wrist, pulling him up short.

“Jeez, Locksley,” he groaned. “You’re going to break my wrist.”  
  
“I can’t muster up enough energy to do that.”  
  
“What’s the matter? You want Henry or Rol to come with us or something?”  
  
“No, no, they’re both already asleep.”

Robin didn’t say anything else, staring at his sneakers with his hands pushed in his pockets and Killian narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What’s going on with you?”  
  
“Come here,” Robin muttered quickly, tugging Killian away from the car. And Emma. And heat. God, two more hours before a hotel.

He was the most pessimistic Olympian in the history of the world.

“What?” Killian asked, doing his best not to sigh out the world.

Robin pressed his lips together, eyes darting around like he was looking for someone to be eavesdropping on this conversation. “Are you serious?”

“Locksley, I spent most of a fourteen-hour plane ride with your kid’s right foot in my liver. I am far too tired to be playing games with you right now.”

“What is that, then,” Robin said, pointed forcibly at Killian’s jacket pocket. His heart was on the ground now. That couldn’t have been very sanitary.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Killian mumbled, rushing over the words and crossing his arms tightly over his chest. That didn’t help. At all. It just pulled the fabric even tighter and pushed the ring box into his side and it was like some kind of flashing, neon light in Times Square, complete with a moving arrow pointing at his pocket and the ring and half a plan.

If he ever got back in the car.

“You have always been an awful liar,” Robin said, shaking his head knowingly and, well, if Liam couldn’t get to the other side of the world, than Locksley would have to serve as some sort of support substitute. He’d been doing it for years anyway.

“You absolutely can’t tell Scarlet. He’s got to do that whole video series with Emma and he won’t be able to keep his mouth shut.”  
  
“And you think you’re going to be able to _not_ ask her in the first week we’re here? Please.”  
  
“I haven’t figured that part out yet.”  
  
Robin groaned, staring at him like he couldn’t quite believe what Killian had said. “Jeez, Cap. That’s the most important part!”  
  
Regina glanced at them when Robin started yelling and Killian hit his shoulder, widening his eyes meaningfully. “Shut up, Locksley. God.”  
  
Robin sighed again, trying to pull Killian’s arms apart so he would inadvertently announce what he had in his pocket. “In between rounds seems like a good idea. Then you guys have some time to, I don’t know, wallow.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s the word you’re looking for.”  
  
“Ah, whatever, you know what I mean. In between rounds, Cap. For sure. Take her somewhere historic or something.”  
  
Killian rolled his eyes, finally, uncrossing his arms, just to stuff his hands in his pockets. He wrapped his fingers around the box and Robin was probably right – he wasn’t sure he’d be able _not_ to ask her in a week.

“It’ll be fine,” Robin promised, squeezing his shoulder for good measure.

“Yeah, that’s the general consensus.”  
  
“Who else knows?”  
  
“The whole lot of them in Colorado.”  
  
Robin nodded, smile working its way across his face and he’d really settled into _older brother_ , the pride practically radiating off of him. “Did Anna plan the whole thing yet?”

“She’s got a loft picked out on Fifth Ave already, I’m sure.”  
  
“Of course she does. Tell you what, Cap. I’ll bet you.”  
  
“What is this team’s obsessions with bets?” Killian groaned, glancing towards the car and he could just barely make out Emma’s feet pulled up on the backseat.

“Hey, I didn’t get in on any of that stuff with you and Scarlet before.”  
  
“So now you want to bet on my engagement,” he hissed and that was the first time he’d said that. He hoped Robin didn’t hear his voice practically crack on the word. He absolutely did.

“A week,” Robin said. “I’m giving you a week at most before you cave and just propose on the ice.”  
  
“God, everyone needs to stop assuming I’m going to propose on the ice. That is other levels of Mrs. V cliché.”  
  
Robin shrugged. “It’s almost romantic.”  
  
“It’s not happening. So what, if I ask her before a week you get something? That’s twisted, Locksley.”  
  
“Nah, Cap. It’s fun. C’mon, Scarlet wanted to bet on A’s kid! This isn’t even nearly as weird as that.” Killian rolled his eyes – but he hadn’t actually disagreed yet, and Robin knew he’d won. He squeezed his shoulder again. “I’ll let you know stakes once I decide.”  
  
He was gone half a moment later, jogging towards an expectant Regina and two sleeping kids in the backseat and Killian gripped the box in his hand a little tighter.

“Killian?” Emma asked, leaning out of the still-open door to the car. “You ready to go?”

He nodded once, smiling at her before he could stop himself as he pulled the door shut behind him. She kept her feet on the seat, but pulled herself against his side and it only took a few minutes before he knew she’d fallen asleep, hand draped over his waist while his fingers toyed with the end of her hair.

The plan, it seemed, was relatively easy, after all.

Get to the Olympics. Win a gold medal. Propose to Emma Swan.

He was probably going to lose the bet.


	2. Chapter 2

She didn’t really remember much of the car ride – just Killian’s voice in her ear when they got to the hotel and fingers in her hair and she’d been so goddamn tired.

She’d grumbled and he’d laughed, the sound of it echoing in the back seat of the car and Ruby must have spent the last month planning the logistics of all of this. If Emma didn’t have her own schedule and two jobs to do and several month’s worth of scheduling to her name as well, she probably would have been impressed.

Well, maybe she was. She was just also exhausted.

And she didn’t want to get out of bed.

The alarm went off and Emma reached for it, nearly knocking it off the nightstand in the process and she didn’t even have to open her eyes to know she was alone in bed already. He’d probably been up for hours already – she could hear a coffee maker on the other side of the room and the sounds of the shower around the corner. Emma sighed softly, but there was a schedule and a to-do-list on their phones and Ruby would kill them if they didn’t get to the lobby on time.

They hadn’t left the room the day before – jet lag and time differences and maybe, _definitely_ , something else that had nothing to do with either one of those things – surviving on room service and that coffee maker and a whole list of television stations that didn’t make much sense.

They didn’t really watch much television.

Emma glanced down at her phone when it vibrated in her hand, eyebrows pulled low at the sound – Mary Margaret wasn’t supposed to text. Except she wasn’t. She was FaceTiming and this wasn’t helping the schedule, but Killian was still in the shower and Emma was a jumble of pre-Olympic excitement and media day and Opening Ceremonies and Mary Margaret absolutely, positively knew all of that.

“You’re going to wreck your data,” Emma said as soon as she swiped her thumb across the screen to find Mary Margaret's enthusiastic smile on the other end.

She made a face. “I don’t care about my data. And hi, by the way.”  
  
“Hey,” Emma smiled, tugging her legs up to rest her chin on her knees as she held her phone out in front of her. “What time is it there?”  
  
“Seven’ish. What is it, fourteen hours?”  
  
“I honestly have no idea.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you know that?”  
  
“Reese’s, did you just call to question whether or not I knew the time difference because that’s kind of insane.”  
  
“Rude.”  
  
“And true.”  
  
Mary Margaret made a noise in the back of her throat, something that sounded eerily similar to that growling thing Ruby did whenever she was frustrated, and Emma heard David chuckle in the background. “I just wanted to make sure you were ready for your Olympics extravaganza,” Mary Margaret continued and David made another noise.

It wasn’t a chuckle – it was...incredulous. That wasn’t really the right word either. It sounded kind of skeptical and just a bit eager and both Emma and Mary Margaret lowered their eyebrows at the sound.

“What’s his deal?” Emma asked, nodding towards the corner of the screen where David was just barely visible in the kitchen alcove.

“I don’t know,” Mary Margaret admitted. “That was weird, right? He keeps doing it too. Every time I mention the Olympics, he gets this weird, anxious look on his face.”  
  
“Who knew he was so patriotic?”  
  
“Maybe it’s got something to do with the force.”  
  
“I can hear, you know,” David shouted, finally turning towards both of them with a look that had Emma biting back a laugh of her own.

“That was kind of the point,” Emma muttered and David glared at her. He sank down next to Mary Margaret, huffing slightly and muttering something that sounded distinctly like _mouthy teenage kid_ underneath his breath.

Mary Margaret still hadn’t lifted her eyebrows, staring at him like she knew he was keeping a secret and it was far too early for this conversation. “You catch up on sleep yet, Em?” David asked conversationally and Emma nearly collapsed back onto the bed in fits. She barely registered the way his eyes widened and _that_ look was back, while she tried to make sure she didn’t drop her phone.

“Ok, for real, what is going on with you?” Emma asked.

David just pressed his lips together tightly, a thin straight line of pink and anxious and _knowing_ and Mary Margaret tapped his shoulder when he didn’t answer immediately. “Nothing,” he said quickly. Emma scoffed. “Seriously.”  
  
“Explain your face then. And why you’re letting Reese’s destroy her data for this.”  
  
“That was Mary Margaret’s idea, not mine. It’s your first day of the Olympics. You can’t expect your mother not to worry about you.”  
  
Mary Margaret hit his shoulder again and Emma rolled her eyes, but that tiny little flame of something that seemed to flare to life whenever she realized how goddamn happy she was seemed to flicker just a bit and she’d probably never get used to this.

A family and friends and there was a Stanley Cup-winning hockey player still in the shower who, at last count, had told her how glad he was she was there seven times in the last twenty-four hours.

Emma’s fingers ghosted over the chain around her neck out of instinct and if asked she probably would have promised it was just so she didn’t choke herself. She was, after all, still collapsed in a sea of pillows and hotel-provided sheets.

It would have been a very big lie.

“For real?” Emma asked. “You checking up on me, Reese’s? Trust me, Ruby’s got that down. I think half of my text messages are from her to make sure I know what to do. As if I can’t run media for a team. It’s not even a whole team, just our guys.”  
  
Mary Margaret smiled at her, the pride making it across several time zones and continents and different days because it was yesterday there and she’d called to make sure Emma was ready for the Olympics.

“I’m not checking up on anything,” Mary Margaret promised. “I know I didn’t need to.” She shrugged, sticking her lower lip out slightly and Emma was dimly aware that the shower had, at some point, turned off and there were footsteps making their way back towards her.

“Swan, you up?”

Mary Margaret _yelped_ – dropping the phone in the process – while David made some kind of impossible noise and Emma wondered if it was possible to melt into a pile of pillows and hotel-provided sheets.

It was far too early in the morning for this.

Far too early for phone calls from supportive quasi-parents and her still-vibrating phone and Killian Jones, captain of Team USA, standing a few feet away from her in a goddamn towel.

She ran her hand over her face, squeezing her eyes shut and if that wasn’t the dumbest thing she’d ever done, then Emma wasn’t sure what was. Killian Jones was standing a few feet away from her in a goddamn towel, that _stupid_ smirk on his face and she couldn’t remember when _that_ had actually started working.

Probably at some point in the last five months, in between trophies on the kitchen counter and pillows on their bed and his seemingly endless determination to make sure that there was always an unopened container of cinnamon in the cabinet.

David was cackling.

“David, God, shut up,” Emma mumbled. He didn’t stop. Mary Margaret was beet red, eyes boring a hole in the floor in the loft several thousand miles away.

Emma glanced up at Killian, smirk still tugging on the ends of his mouth and he did something ridiculous with his eyebrows. The fire in the pit of her stomach was somewhere close to an inferno.

“I’m awake,” she said, pushing back up and blinking quickly when the whole room seemed to move with her.

The smirk disappeared almost immediately.

“Swan,” Killian said sharply and even Mary Margaret lifted her gaze, eyes going wide when Emma shook her head slowly, trying to regain her bearings. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, fine. Just moved too quickly or something.”

His shoulders were tense, a straight line of concern and the worry radiating of him was nearly palpable, any humor at absolutely terrorizing David and Mary Margaret on the other side of the world forgotten as soon as Emma slumped against the pillows.

“Just tired,” she muttered and he didn’t look convinced. “Has Ruby started texting you? I can hear the messages already, but I’ve been getting sent off to my first day of school by Mom and Dad so I haven’t had a chance to look.”  
  
Killian shook his head slowly, tongue pressed on the inside of his cheek and his shoulders hadn’t relaxed yet. Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m fine,” she promised. He just lifted his eyebrows and that wasn’t even fair – he was in a _towel_ for God's sake.

“And,” Mary Margaret added, probably sensing _whatever_ was happening on the other side of the world as easily as if she were sitting in the corner of the hotel room. “It’s not your first day of school, Emma. If you’re going to be sarcastic about this, at least do it right.”  
  
“Ah, well, yeah, of course,” Emma scoffed and Mary Margaret only looked slightly frustrated. She also still looked a bit worried.

And Killian hadn’t blinked in days – at least.

“Put clothes on,” she continued, glancing up at him as she tried to keep herself still and leaning up against pillows. Her phone buzzed again. Ruby was the single most dramatic person in the entire world.

They were _ahead_ of schedule.

Killian sighed, but he’d finally pulled his tongue away from the inside of his cheek and David had gone back to the kitchen alcove, banging pots and pans and mumbling under his breath about...something. She couldn’t quite understand what he was saying.

“Are you distracted, Swan?” Killian asked, arms crossed lightly over his chest.

“No,” she said and that sounded like an excuse too. Add that to the list she’d made the night before, in between TV shows they couldn’t understand and a, frankly, ridiculous amount of kissing.

“No?”  
  
“No. You’re embarrassing Reese’s though. She’s gone all red.”  
  
Mary Margaret made a noise on the other end of the phone and Killian’s shoulders, finally, moved, sagging slightly as he breathed out the air Emma knew he’d been holding. “I have no idea where my phone is,” he said and that wasn’t really the answer Emma had been expecting.

“What?” she shouted – mostly to his back. He’d turned around before she’d even gotten a single letter out, glancing at her over his shoulder with wide eyes and that felt like cheating too. At least these jerseys weren’t blue.

She probably wouldn’t have survived two weeks of Olympics and looks like that and eyes that, inexplicably, matched another jersey color.

David laughed from the kitchen and if it didn't require another fourteen-hour flight and more jet lag – as if that were even possible – she’d fly back to New York City and kick him. Or punch him. Probably in both of his kidneys.

“To be fair,” Killian said, dress pants on and shirt barely buttoned and two ties in his hands. Emma nodded towards the left one. Slightly less _Rangers blue_ than the other. “I don’t think Scarlet even brought his phone at all, so…”  
  
“If that’s supposed to impress me, it doesn’t,” Emma argued. “I don’t know that we should be using Scarlet as some kind of marker of adult responsibility. And how is he going to talk to Belle?”  
  
“Well, she’s coming next week, so I don’t thinks he’s worried. Plus, he’s absolutely going to destroy Phillip’s data.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”  
  
“See, this is why you stay in hotels, Swan. There’s guaranteed wifi and no data issues.”  
  
“Are you just throwing internet facts at me?”  
  
“I don’t think I’m throwing anything. Unless it’s my phone. But that was last night and not a fact, so I don’t think that’s what you were talking about.”

Emma made a face, biting back the urge to laugh or maybe sink back into the pillows and that would probably just make her dizzy again. “Is there coffee?”

Killian nodded and if she wasn’t, maybe, looking for it, she probably wouldn’t have noticed the way his shoulders shifted again, weight rocking between his feet as he tried to read her face. _Open book_. Idiot.

Worried idiot.

They didn’t have time for worry or jet lag or whatever fit David was having in New York City.

“Ruby is texting me now,” Mary Margaret muttered, something that looked like amusement flashing across her face.

“Oh my God,” Emma groaned and she glared at Killian when he started laughing. He stopped as soon as a _different_ phone buzzed – underneath one of the pillows. She shook her head, grabbing the pillow and throwing it across the room before he grabbed his phone off the mattress, shooting her an apologetic look as he moved. “Tell Ruby we’ll be downstairs on time. We are so far ahead of schedule, it’s almost a joke.”  
  
Mary Margaret might have saluted, but Killian mumbled _mine wasn’t Lucas_ under his breath and Emma was glad they’d at least had the presence of mind the day before to hang up their clothes, certain Regina would have been scandalized if either one of them showed up to media in slightly wrinkled clothing.

“Who was it?” Emma asked.

She didn’t expect Mary Margaret to answer. “It was Ariel wasn’t it?” Killian nodded, but he didn’t take his eyes away from his phone, fingers flying across the screen and Emma’s head felt like it was on a swivel.

“She’s very bored,” Mary Margaret explained. “She wants updates and guarantees that no one is going to get hurt while you guys are there.”  
  
“We’re not even supposed to check each other,” Killian muttered and Mary Margaret shrugged.

“I think she’s convinced something terrible is going to happen to one of you.”

“Oh my God,” Emma said again, squeezing her eyes shut and she could feel Killian glance her direction, stuffing his phone back in his pocket with a bit more force than absolutely necessary. “You ok?” she asked.

“Fine.”  
  
Something was going on. And open book worked both ways. David made another noise.

“Alright,” Emma said slowly, dragging out the word like that would somehow get him to talk. She’d almost forgotten about the FaceTime phone call in her hand. “They’re going to ask you about that, you know. Today, I mean. Checking and everything you said and what you did over the last couple of months.”  
  
“I know how to answer questions, Swan.”  
  
She pulled her legs underneath her, tilting her head at the tone of his voice and Killian sighed again. “Red’s very bored,” he said.

“So I’ve been told.”  
  
Emma glanced back at Mary Margaret, looking for some kind of explanation as to _whatever_ was going on and she knew, immediately, she wasn’t going to get it. Mary Margaret looked just as confused as Emma felt, eyes darting back towards David when he dropped, what sounded like, an entire set of pots and pans.

“David, what even?” Emma asked, but she hadn’t stopped looking at Killian. His tongue darted out in between his lips and he was dangerously close to strangling himself with his own tie. She jumped off the bed, as fine as promised, and tugged his hands away.

He didn’t argue.

“I’d be mad if you didn’t make it to media,” she muttered, hand falling on his chest when she’d finished and she couldn’t quite breathe when his hand fell on top of hers.

That was stupid.

It probably wouldn’t ever stop.

She hoped not.

“We saved that _Post_ you know,” Mary Margaret shouted, Emma’s phone forgotten on the bed in the middle of _romance_ and something that felt decidedly important. He wasn’t telling her something. And she knew it.

He knew she knew it.

“She’s probably going to scrapbook it,” Emma added and Killian scoffed.

“I’ve never scrapbooked in my entire life. That is just stereotyping for teachers.”  
  
“Ok, that had nothing to do you with your chosen profession,” Emma argued, turning back towards her phone. “What did A want to know about?”  
  
And it was like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room – Killian going stiff behind her and his hand tightened where it had landed on her waist and David dropped something. Again.

Mary Margaret shrugged. “She wanted to know if anything major had happened yet.” Killian hissed in what sounded like a _gulp_ of air and Emma spun at the sound, a mix of frustration and amusement on his face while he ran his hand through his hair. “I said you guys probably spent most of yesterday sleeping. I think she’s just trying to make sure she doesn’t miss anything. She’s mad she couldn’t go.”  
  
“She’s almost nine months pregnant,” Emma reasoned. “She wouldn’t have even been able to go to games if we were playing in New York.”  
  
“Don’t tell her that.”  
  
“I wouldn’t.”

“That’s smart, Swan,” Killian said and he hadn’t let go of her waist. “She’s, uh, she’s rather determined at this point.”  
  
Emma was still missing something. She was certain of it – could see the way David kept trying to meet Killian’s gaze and how Killian kept, absolutely, avoiding it. “What is happening right now?”  
  
“Nothing,” Killian and David said at the same time. Both of them groaned.

“Alright,” Emma snapped and maybe she was the one who was slightly frustrated now. She was going to drink that entire goddamn pot of coffee. “Fine. Do whatever it is you’re doing. David, I hope you have to work every single time we play. And you,” she spun on the spot, nearly dropping her phone in the process and Killian almost looked intimidated. He also looked impressed, eyes widening and mouth quirking up. “You better come up with good answers for every question they ask, no deflecting and no bringing Rol with you to try and distract them.”  
  
“Would I do that, Swan?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“That’s fair,” he laughed, tugging her against him and brushing his lips across her forehead and, well, there went the frustration.

“They’re going to want to know what you said to get an entire league to change its mind.”  
  
“They used Captain America in a headline again today,” Mary Margaret, voice muffled a bit with Emma’s phone was pressed up against Killian’s chest. “But I think that was ESPN. Right? So that’s kind of cheating.”

David hummed in agreement and Emma shook her head, shoulders shaking slightly when she laughed and bit her lip.

And even if she was absolutely, positive _something_ was going on, she was somewhere in the realm of impossibly happy, if not slightly hungry.

And caffeine deprived.

It didn’t matter.

She was happy and they were at the Olympics and she might be meticulously scheduled for the next two weeks, but there was hockey to watch and media to run and they’d already promised to bring Henry and Rol somewhere _educational_ and it all kind of felt like a dream.

It was not.

They were going to win a gold medal.

They could hang it off the Conn-Smythe they’d never given back.

“Captain America,” Emma repeated, tapping her nails against a line of buttons and Killian rolled his eyes.

“Just Killian, love,” he said softly and the words seemed to work their way from her head to her heart and the bottom of her toes and she was a sentimental fool who loved her boyfriend. They were absolutely going to win.

Again.

She’d forgotten about Mary Margaret and David entirely, gripping her phone tightly when Killian ducked his head and his lips against hers sent a shockwave of something very particular down her spine.

Mary Margaret coughed pointedly and Emma nearly snapped back, blinking quickly when Killian grinned at her. “Sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbled. “I’ve got to go Reese’s.”  
  
“Yuh huh,” she laughed, but there was a smile on her face when Emma pulled the phone back up. “Go dominate the Olympics. Both of you.”  
  
“Thanks, Mom.”

They made it to the lobby before Ruby did, the Mills-Locksley family sitting in chairs with matching looks of post-flight exhaustion on their face and both Henry and Roland were already drowning in Team USA merch.

“Did Ruby call you?” Robin grumbled, legs stretched out in front of him and he didn’t even try to slow down Roland when he practically leapt at Killian.

Emma nodded, narrowing her eyes when Regina started at Killian like she was taking stock of all of his limbs. He glared at her, tugging Roland up and groaning slightly when he slung him over his shoulder.

“Ariel is going to kill you if you hurt yourself this week,” Emma muttered and he couldn't really shrug.

“Hey Emma,” Roland yelled, shouting the words at her in the crowded lobby that, at first glance, appeared to be filled with hockey players and something that might have actually been a bobsled in the corner. She was surprised Henry and Roland hadn’t claimed it as their own yet. That was probably Regina’s doing.

“Hey, Rol,” she said. “When did you guys get jerseys?”  
  
“Gina brought them.”  
  
“Prepared.”  
  
Regina shrugged, but Emma didn’t think she’d imagined the small hint of pride on her face either. “Killian,” she hissed and he snapped to attention, ignoring Roland’s soft cry when he nearly dropped him. “Put my kid down. Ariel won’t kill you if you get hurt, but I will and so will front office. The only reason we’re here is because you promised you wouldn’t get hurt.”  
  
“Ok, that’s not the only reason,” Killian sighed.

That was a lie.  
  
It was.

It was absolutely the only reason and Captain America was, actually, a pretty spot-on headline. Even if the mock-up in the Post was absolutely awful.

“You’re going to have to get used to that eventually,” Emma mumbled, eyeing Killian cautiously when there was an eight-year-old draped halfway down his back. “And you’re absolutely going to dislocate your shoulder.”

“I am not the only reason we’re here, Swan.”  
  
It was a several-months-old argument now, a back-and-forth Emma couldn’t seem to understand or get the upper-hand in. He was incredibly stubborn. And incredibly wrong.

The NHL wasn’t going to let them go.

Something about injuries and stopping the season for two weeks in the middle of February and whatever the Bruins owner said about Olympic ratings that had earned its own fairly horrible mock-up on the back page of _The New York Post_.

There’d been a decision – no pros in the Olympics and that was that.

Until Killian.

He talked to front office and answered every single question the media asked, crowding around his locker and demanding thoughts and opinions and _what was he going to do about it?_ He fixed it. He went on the record and talked about what it meant to be an Olympian and how he wasn’t going to give up on an opportunity like this, no matter what the league said.

And other players followed.

It was like a wave – everyone responding and answering and there was some kind of petition that Killian absolutely refused to call a petition, promising _it’s just names, love_ whenever she asked about it.  
  
It was a lot of names.

All of them agreeing with Killian Jones and he was the only one who seemed even remotely surprised when he ended up with another “C” on his Olympics jersey.

“Well, that’s not true at all is it?” Regina muttered and Emma threw her a thankful smile. Killian groaned. Although that might have been because of Roland.

“Why aren’t you just accepting this?” Emma asked, doing her best not to shout the words at him. He still looked a little shellshocked after the phone call that morning and she’d come out of the shower to find him sitting rail-straight on the corner of the bed, staring at his phone again.

And it had been unnaturally silent from Colorado.

She was going to figure this out. As soon as they finished media day. And Ruby got to the lobby. And she made sure that Scarlet was wearing a tie and Phillip didn’t try and crash their media scrum and eventually they’d have to see the hockey arena, but that was, apparently, an hour away and Emma might have been excited about the Olympics, but driving an hour through South Korean mountains every day wasn’t something she was particularly looking forward to.

Oh and the opening ceremonies.

Obviously.

That had its own to-do-list though.

“Because it’s not true,” Killian said, answering the question she’d almost forgotten she’d asked, mind racing through lists and schedules and videos that were slated to get sent to Merida at regular intervals because, God help them all if they spoiled the Olympics.

NBC would sue them.

“There was a petition, Killian!”

“A list of names.”  
  
“Jeez.”  
  
“I only said what all of us were thinking.”  
  
“But that’s exactly what I’m talking about! No one else did. You did and you answered phone calls and sat in front office for hours all while you guys were still playing and still winning and we’re second in the Metro! God. This is a good thing. You did a good thing here, just accept it.”

He blinked once, mouth opening and closing three times before he took a step towards her and he couldn’t really touch her – he’d absolutely drop Roland if he did – but he stared at her, eyes tracing across her face like he was waiting for her to shout that she didn’t mean any of it.

She didn’t.

And she’d done enough shouting already that day.

Ruby was very late.

“I love you,” Killian said softly, leaning forward slightly she could hear and Roland squirmed again.

“If that’s supposed to end this argument, you’ve got another thing coming. And I love you too.”  
  
“Good to know.”  
  
She shook her head slowly and he needed to stop cheating like that, smiling at her and lifting up kids like they didn’t weigh anything or hurt his shoulder and she was halfway to kissing him in the middle of the hotel lobby when the door swung open a few feet away and a visibly frustrated Will Scarlet marched towards them.

“Gross,” he muttered, nodding towards Killian and Robin laughed softly under his breath. He’d been noticeably silent as well – leaving Emma to argue alone when he’d been known to just start humming _My Country ‘Tis of Thee_ whenever he walked by Killian over the last few weeks.

“Scarlet, where is your tie?” Emma sighed, hitching up the bag on her shoulder. She grabbed her phone out of her pocket, firing off a text message to Ruby. It was just exclamation points.

“In my pocket, why?”  
  
“You have to wear it when you get there. Obviously.”  
  
“We’re in the lobby, Emma.”

“Give me your tie.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Your tie, Scarlet. And did you really leave your phone in the States?”  
  
Will shrugged, stuffing his hand in his pocket and practically throwing the piece of fabric at Emma. “Belle’s going to be here next week. And you guys are all here anyway. Who else do I need to talk to?”  
  
She was going to make fun of him, something snarky and sarcastic and she couldn’t really bring herself to do it. The fire had, apparently, moved to the hotel lobby and Emma’s eyes darted towards Killian before she could stop herself.

He smiled at her.

A real, genuine smile.

Her heart flipped. If that was possible. Probably not. Maybe it was just more jet lag.

“Lean your head forward,” Emma said, swinging the tie around Will’s neck and tucking it under the collar of his shirt and, well, at least he’d brought a tie to begin with.

“Are we still on schedule?” Robin asked, rolling his shoulders and maybe they should get out on some kind of ice before the ceremonies that night. The entire lot of them looked like they were moving in slow motion.

“Barely,” Emma answered. “I don’t know where Ruby is. She was all about getting down here early and now she’s ignoring my messages. It doesn’t really matter though. We’re split up by team anyway, so you guys exist in your own Rangers world today and then it kind of shifts after we start officially playing.”  
  
“Who do we play tomorrow?”  
  
“Have you not looked at your schedule, Locksley?”  
  
Robin shrugged again and Emma sighed, trying to infuse as much Olympic drama as she could in the sound. It didn’t really work. Probably because she was trying not to choke Will and she was so goddamn happy she couldn’t really see straight or come up with a metaphor that didn’t include fire.

“Here,” Emma said, dropping her bag on the floor and bending down to grab a sheet of paper. She held it towards Robin expectantly and rolled her eyes when his gaze drifted towards Killian. “Don’t look at Jones,” she snapped. “He got you guys here, but this is my gig now. And my schedule.”

Will laughed, but he pressed his lips together tightly as soon as Emma turned on him, eyes narrowed and determination flashing through every inch of her. “Aye, aye, Cap,” he said, saluting with two fingers.

“I kind of like that,” Emma admitted and Killian practically beamed at her. He hadn’t put Roland down yet, the kid humming what sounded like the national anthem against his shoulder. “Alright,” she continued, “since Ruby isn’t here yet, listen to how this is going to work. You guys are super psyched to be here, got it? We’re all psyched. The key word for today is _psyched_ and _no hits_.”  
  
“That’s three words, Swan,” Killian muttered.

“Shut up. Psyched and no hits. Got it?” All three of them nodded. “Good. So you focus on those, you sit behind the desks, you do not use painfully adorable children as distractions. You say you’re all about _America_ and you can’t wait to march around a stadium later on tonight because you all are so goddamn patriotic for the next two weeks that you could, at any given point, start reciting the Declaration of Independence..”  
  
“Cap probably could,” Robin laughed and even Regina couldn’t quite turn her laughter into a convincing cough quickly enough.

“Do we really have to wear those hats later?” Will asked. “Because those are awful.”  
  
They were. They were worse than awful. They were somewhere in the realm of comical and Emma was thankful she didn’t have to wear them, sitting in an NHL-provided seat with Ruby and Regina and the aforementioned painfully adorable kids later that night.

“The sweater is worse,” Killian added and Emma sighed. “I’m sorry, Swan. It is. Have you seen it?”  
  
“Obviously,” she said.

He was right about that too. The sweater was definitely worse. She was going to make them pose for pictures before they marched out.

“You have to wear the sweater,” Ruby announced, wearing Team USA merch and her nails matched her highlights almost perfectly. She looked like she was ready to rip apart several sweaters. At once.

“Where have you been?” Emma asked and Ruby held her hands up in mock surrender. “We’re going to be late.”  
  
“Clock watcher. Did we talk about the buzz words?”  
  
“All three of them.”  
  
“No hits,” Ruby said, half shouting the word at the Rangers first line. “And safety. Add that to the list too.”  
  
“Four words,” Killian mumbled, moving his eyebrows quickly when Emma turned to gape at him.

“Shut up, Cap.”  
  
“Jeez, everyone’s on edge today, huh?”  
  
Ruby narrowed her eyes, taking three steps towards him and resting a hand on Roland’s shoulder. “Hey, Rol,” she said, ignoring Killian completely. “Hook’s the absolute worst, huh?”  
  
“Nah,” Roland argued easily and Emma was smiling before she realized her lips had even moved. “He’s going to score, like, twenty goals. At least.”  
  
“That’s not what we agreed on, mate,” Killian muttered. “There aren’t that many games.”  
  
Will scoffed. They were five minutes behind schedule now. None of them seemed to care. The New York Rangers – collectively ignoring Team USA rules and regulations since before the Olympics even started. “And if he keeps holding you up there like that, Rol, he’s going to dislocate his shoulder," Will laughed. "Come on, get down before all the blood rushes to your head.”  
  
Roland grumbled, but he didn’t argue and Will got him back on the ground and upright – face just a bit more red than it probably should have been.

“One a game, right, Killian?” Henry asked, stretching his arms over his head. “Especially in pool play. You guys are going to roll in pool play,”

“Don’t mention that in media,” Emma said. Six minutes behind schedule. There were, according to the hour-by-hour calendar on her phone, already cars waiting outside for them. “And, you know, you never answered the question, Rubes.”  
  
Ruby’s mouth dropped open. She thought she’d gotten away with it. Like hell. Emma was going to, at least, get some answers.

She made a face, bright red lips twisted in thought and Emma was certain she was trying to look at anyone who wasn’t her. Robin kept staring at Killian.

“A,” Ruby answered after what felt like an actual eternity. “She’s very bored. And also I was dealing with Booth.”

“August Booth? And shouldn’t Ariel be asleep? Or sleeping? Or resting?”  
  
“Yes to every question you just asked.”  
  
“What’s the matter with Booth?”

“Throw a dart. Mad about whatever happened in the Village last night and having to get to media and he’s the only ‘Cane here because, you know, they’re the Hurricanes, so he didn’t want to go and that’s why I’m late. I was trying to convince him to show up.”  
  
“Jeez.”  
  
“Go ahead and apologize for all those awful things you were thinking about me being late. And be grateful front office traded Booth when they did so you don’t have to deal with him for the next two weeks.”  
  
Emma groaned, but Ruby smiled at her – some kind of all-knowing look that Emma wasn’t entirely certain she appreciated it, especially when her eyes kept shifting away from her face and back to Killian and they were ten minutes late now.

“That was some shit in the Village last night though,” Will muttered, only to be met with a handful of sighs and exasperated sounds. “God, Rol, hurry up and get older so I’m not the bad guy here anymore, ok?”  
  
“Take that back,” Regina snapped, tugging Roland against her side and brushing his hair out of his eyes. He didn’t appreciate that very much. And, it appeared, he and Henry had, finally noticed the bobsled in the corner of the lobby.

They got as far as halfway towards the thing before Killian and Robin moved, grabbing both of them around the waist and Emma mumbled _athletes_ under her breath. Killian smiled at her. And Ruby was still staring at him.

Like she was waiting for something.

“Can we go, Lucas?” Killian asked. “Swan’s got a schedule to stick to.”  
  
Ruby scoffed, crossing her arms lightly, but she nodded. “Killian Jones, defender of American hockey and his girlfriend’s media schedule.”  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”  
  
“Enough, Ruby,” Robin said, interrupting something Emma was certain didn’t make much sense. “We’ve got buzzwords to focus on, remember? Those are the only words we care about today.”  
  
She was definitely missing something. Maybe she’d call Mary Margaret before the Opening Ceremonies and force her to talk. Mary Margaret totally knew. Maybe. She looked just as confused as Emma had.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ruby muttered, sounding as disgruntled as she felt. She shot Killian one more look and he stared back, all blue and something that might have been steel and determination with Henry tucked against his side.

“You want to come with us, Henry?” he asked. “We can plan a goal-scoring strategy.”  
  
Henry nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, sure!”  
  
“Deal. You ready, Swan?”  
  
“I’ve been ready since we got down here.”

“Rude,” Ruby said, marching towards the doors and the waiting cars. “You can take Booth then, Emma. I’m not dealing with him for the next two weeks.”

Killian grinned at her, arm finding its way back around her shoulders and she could still feel the tension there, but he couldn’t seem to hold onto it, lips finding her forehead almost as soon as he’d pulled her against him.

They, eventually, decided on ten goals.

A nice, round number, that Killian seemed fairly confident he could hit if they, as promised, rolled through pool play.

They were totally going to roll through pool play.

She hoped no one said that at media.

And they were, absolutely, the last team to get there – several league officials swarming them as soon as the cars pulled up in front of the Olympic stadium, barely giving them a moment to take any of it in.

There was a lot to take in.

“Big isn’t it?” Henry asked, falling into stride next to Emma as soon as Killian was pulled towards a table and a sea of expectant reporters who were already mumbling about meeting deadlines stateside.

This time difference was going to be frustrating.

“It is the Olympics,” Emma reasoned. “I think they’ve got to make sure it’s appropriately overwhelming. Just wait until we get outside later on tonight. Or go see some mountains.”  
  
“We’re going to see mountains?”  
  
Emma nodded, hand falling on Henry’s shoulder as they stepped into the room and Killian was already grinning, sitting behind a table with Robin and Will on either side and they’d already used the word _psyched_ twice.

“They said the thing,” Henry laughed.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they bet on it, honestly.”  
  
“Robin bet Will that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hit count under five in pool play.”  
  
“What? For real?”

Henry nodded, eyes darting towards Emma like he’d suddenly realized what he’d told her. “For real. Robin was telling Regina last night.”  
  
“Didn’t you sleep?”  
  
“Eh,” Henry shrugged and Emma tilted her head at the sound.

“What?”  
  
“Nothing,” he said quickly. Or, rather, immediately. He’d answered before Emma had even finished asking the question.

And the question was only one word.

“You sound like Killian,” she muttered, glancing towards the table of Rangers she was in charge of, each of them with matching smiles on their faces and perfectly knotted ties and they almost looked like Olympians.

They absolutely looked like Olympians.

She should be taking pictures. Emma grabbed her phone out of her bag, quickly filing away her determination to _figure out what the fuck was going on_ and act like a goddamn professional for two seconds. She just didn’t have enough hands.

“Here,” Henry said, grabbing the bag off her shoulder and slinging it over his without a word. He pushed her phone into her hand and grabbed the camera she’d only been half instructed how to use when Mulan sat her down for two hours in her office a week before.

“Thanks, kid.”  
  
He shrugged again, but his face looked just a bit more _red_ than usual. “You know,” Henry said slowly. “I could help. Maybe. If you want.”  
  
“Help? How?”  
  
“I’m taking a photo class at school. I mean, I’m not Mulan, but she’s let me do some stuff with her during games this season and when Killian’s sister was here after the Finals, she let me play around with her camera at the restaurant. She said I wasn’t bad.”  
  
Emma considered it for a moment, but the hopeful look on Henry’s face was enough to make the decision one of the easiest ones she’d been presented with in the last month – and she’d planned that whole outdoor practice in, like, two days.

She could use a bit of easy.

“Ok,” she said, handing Henry the camera and his eyes, somehow, got even wider. “I need pictures of our guys. And only our guys. The league sent photographers, but we want to make sure we’ve got enough stuff to fill a gallery every other day. Just keep snapping. Or whatever the technical term is.”  
  
“I think snapping makes sense.”  
  
“Let’s go with that then. Here,” she tugged her ID off her neck, slinging it over Henry’s head and it wasn’t, strictly, following the rules, but she only had so many hands. “So you can force your way into the scrum. If they don’t let you in, yell, and one of the guys will pull you up.”  
  
Henry looked vaguely affronted at that. “I can do it, Emma.”  
  
“I’ve got no doubt,” she promised. “Go snap.”  
  
He nodded once, eyebrows moving quickly and Emma pushed her heels into the ground so she wouldn’t delve into the deep end of sentiment. After all, it seemed everyone on this stupid team knew she something she absolutely did not.

Figured.

There were more questions and Henry made it to the front of the table without help from a single professional hockey player, all of three of them widening their eyes when he started taking photos. Emma kept her phone trained on the scene in front of her, sending out SnapChats and Instagram updates and the thing was starting to actually get _hot_ in her hand, retweets and messages and, probably, chants of _USA USA USA_ several thousand miles away.

Take that, Bruins general manager.

“You just letting kids do you job for you now?”  
  
Emma spun at the voice, mouth falling open and the breath rushed out of her quickly, arms flung around a body she barely gave herself a moment to even register.

She nearly dropped her phone.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, practically screaming the words in Graham’s face. Or his neck. She’d kind of buried herself against him.

Graham laughed against her, chest shaking with the sound of it as his arms tightened around her. “It’s the Olympics, Em. I think there are a lot of people here.”  
  
“That’s not even what I meant at all. Don’t you guys do media after us? That’s what the schedule said.”  
  
“Emma Swan, living life to a schedule.”  
  
“Nah,” she argued, glancing over her shoulder and Killian was answering _another_ question, hand practically entrenched in his hair. Will kept making faces at Henry.

Graham hummed knowingly, following her line of vision and when she looked back he was smiling at her. “You happy, Em?”  
  
“Yeah,” she said. “Really.”  
  
“Good. Because your boyfriend’s made it so we can’t check each other in this thing and if you weren’t happy, I’d probably have to kill him on the ice.”  
  
“Stand down, Humbert. It’s fine.”  
  
“Yeah? You been on the internet recently?”  
  
Emma rolled her eyes, but she shrugged in response. “Yeah, we don’t do that much anymore. No one’s searching out headlines unless they’re also being used as name puns on the back pages of the tabs.”  
  
“I saw that picture,” Graham laughed. “Is Mary Margaret going to keep it forever?”  
  
“And ever, likely. But come on, how come you’re here early? Shouldn’t you be practicing or something? Seeing as you guys are going to get wrecked?”

Graham’s eyes flashed and his laugh was on the wrong side of incredulous. “Are you trash talking me, right now?”  
  
“I’m being paid very well to make sure that Team USA comes home well represented in the media and the best way to do that is if they win a medal, so, yeah, I’m absolutely trash talking.”  
  
“You know we both win medals if we get to the final.”  
  
“And I’m sure you’ll look very good with silver around your neck.”  
  
“Man, you are ruthless now, aren’t you? Took all that _nice_ Vancouver out of you and replaced it with New York grit or something.”  
  
“Or something for sure,” Emma grumbled, knocking her knuckles against Graham’s shoulder. There was a “C” there. And if he thought she’d yelled loudly when he showed up during USA media day, it was nothing to whatever noise she made as soon as realization struck her. “When did that happen?”  
  
Graham shrugged, but Emma hit her fist against his chest and she was, at least, getting _some_ answers. “Couple of days before we left. That’s actually why I’m here.”

“What?”  
  
“Rumor has it your team likes to bet on things.”  
  
“Oh my God,” she groaned, rolling her head towards the ceiling and only suddenly remembering she wasn’t SnapChatting. God, fuck SnapChat. “Is that what you were learning on the internet?”  
  
“Nah, that was something totally different.”  
  
Emma resisted the urge to ask about _that_ , pointing her phone back towards the table and trying to work her way in between several different reporters at once. “Alright, go ahead, what’s the bet, then?”  
  
“You rolling right now?”  
  
“Obviously.”  
  
“Keep that thing on.”  
  
She barely had time to even consider a response before Graham was moving around her, twisting through the crowd and coughing loudly until the horde of media, finally, turned around to stare at him. Will made another face.

Henry kept snapping.

“Hey, other captain,” Graham said, striding towards the table with a grin on his face and, quite possibly, some sort of spring in his step. Emma did her best to keep her arm steady.

Killian pulled his hand out of his hair, running his fingers across his jaw. “Humbert.”  
  
“No, no, Captain,” Graham argued, tapping the patch on his jersey for extra emphasis. “They make you guys wear suits to media day? That’s kind of lame isn’t it? Very American. All strict and rule-abiding.”  
  
“Why are you here, Humbert?”  
  
“Captain. We, literally, just went over this. And I’m here to talk.”  
  
“In the middle of media day?”  
  
“Ah, well, I figured you guys could use some positive headlines before you deal with that almost-medal disappointment in two weeks.”  
  
“Did you honestly just come over here to trash talk, Humbert?” Will asked skeptically and the sea of media started muttering again, pushing reorders and phones forward and this would probably be all over the internet in minutes.

Emma kept updating Twitter. Her phone was probably going to combust at some point.

“Nah,” Graham said. “Not with you guys at least. Media relations and I already covered most of the trash-talking basics.” Killian’s eyebrows practically leapt up his forehead, peering above the crowd in front of him to meet Emma’s eyes.

He winked.

Idiot.

“Alright,” Killian said. “So if you’re not, actually, going to trash talk, what’s this about then?”  
  
“I’m here to make a bet.”  
  
Robin slumped in his chair, head falling onto his forearms and Emma was briefly concerned with how close he came to colliding to the table. Will made some kind of ridiculous noise, something that sounded a bit like a _whoop_ and came complete with a fist pump, but Killian didn’t move an inch, staring at Graham with barely passing interest.

“A bet,” he repeated. “For?”  
  
“Pride and country, obviously.”  
  
“Oh, obviously.”  
  
Will grumbled, grabbing one of the microphones in front of him and practically leaning over the entire table. “What are your stakes, then? Can we get some maple candy out of it?”  
  
“Do you think all of Team Canada just came to South Korea with maple candy in their pockets?” Graham asked and a few of the reporters laughed. Emma’s phone would not vibrating.  
  
“Did you not?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Stakes, Humbert,” Killian muttered and Graham grinned at him, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

“Captain versus Captain, right?” Killian nodded. “Good. Now, you guys have to win for this to work, understand?” Killian’s eyes flashed, all blue and determination and Emma wasn’t certain if Graham or the entire country of Canada had thought this through enough.

“Oh, that was a mistake,” Robin mumbled and Will chuckled softly.

“You’re evading,” Killian said. “Spit it out. And we’re totally going to win. Go ahead and print that, too. I’m psyched about how much we’re going to win.”  
  
Emma bit her lip, half a moment away from the edge of hysterical and she heard Regina’s heels before she started talking. “The tabs are going to love this,” she said, a hand on Roland’s shoulders and half a smile on her face.

“Twitter already does,” Emma added, nodding towards her phone and Ruby would be mad she was missing all the fun.

“Good. Maybe the SubReddit won’t act like some cesspool of rumors anymore.”  
  
“Yeah, I wouldn’t hold my breath on that.”  
  
“Did you look, then?”  
  
“Why does everyone keep asking me that? No, I don’t look anymore. And David’s banned from telling me. Although he’s really worried about his data, so that might be part of it too.”  
  
“He knows it’s fine if he’s connected to wifi, right? That’s how the internet works.”  
  
Emma shook her head slowly. “I have no idea.”  
  
The conversation at the table hadn’t slowed down and the reporters were shouting again, voices overlapping as they tried to get quotes and a story and an angle that was, somehow, different from the person standing next to them.

“What is happening right now?” Ruby asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere with two phones in her hand and a clipboard tucked underneath her arm. She reached up to pull the pen out of Emma’s hair. “Don’t do that,” she chastised. “You’ll get ink on your face.”  
  
“They’re betting,” Emma answered, ignoring the ink jab and practically stuffing the pen back in her ponytail. There was nowhere else to put it anyway. And Henry still had her bag.

“Jeez, of course they are. You talk to Cap yet?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Was that an answer?”  
  
“I don’t understand what the question was.”

“So that’s a no then,” Ruby said, leaning around Emma to stare questioningly at Regina. “You think that’s a no?”  
  
Regina hummed. “Seems like it.”  
  
“Are we done here?” Emma asked impatiently. “We’ve got some kind of bet to promo now and Mer’s going to be literally up in the middle of the night to post video.”  
  
“You’ll get video, Em,” Ruby said, resting what was probably supposed to be a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Come on we’ll go corner them now that they’ve broken free of the horde. Maybe Mer can get some sleep.”  
  
“She’s absolutely sleeping in her office.”  
  
“I know she is. Let’s go.”

The stakes were, apparently, relatively easy. Captain versus Captain, America versus Canada, and they both seemed fairly confident they’d be playing in each other in the gold medal game. Whoever lost sang – loudly.

The loudly, it appeared, was the key to the whole thing.

“We have to, and I’m quoting here, enthusiastically sing the other country’s national anthem after the medal ceremony,” Killian explained a few minutes later, staring into the camera Emma had held in front of him like he was tortured by media relations. Or community relations. The specifics of her job were a bit more expansive when it came to the Olympics.

“That’s it?” Emma asked.

“Were you looking for more? It’s not my bet. I’m just agreeing to stakes, for the pride of America or whatever.”  
  
“Ok, see that didn’t sound very psyched.”  
  
“I’ve said the word psyched so many times today, it doesn’t even sound like an actual word anymore, love.”  
  
Emma rolled her head, lolling it towards her slumped shoulders and he totally knew what he was doing. They wouldn’t be able to use that part now. “Jerk,” she muttered, cutting the end of the video off and sending it to Merida with an added _get some sleep, Mer, God_ at the bottom.

“Ah,” Killian laughed, tugging on his tie as he took a step closer to her and kissed her hair. “And I here I was under some impression that you were defending my honor before.”  
  
“America,” she corrected and she probably appreciated the smirk more than she should have. “I was defending America. And you’re far too competitive for your own good.”  
  
He shrugged, tie, finally undone and just hanging around his neck like it was _teasing_ Emma. They had ceremonies to deal with and she was still as tired as she’d been when she’d woken up, but she’d been drinking coffee nonstop and and she’d, eventually, stopped yawning every other minute.  
  
“You know how I feel about a bet, Swan. Humbert questioning my captaincy.”  
  
“Did he do that? I must have missed that part.”  
  
Killian narrowed his eyes, hands landing on either side of her hips and that tie was an absolute joke. She pulled on one end before she could even consider all the reasons she shouldn’t have. “Are you defending the enemy, love?”

“The Canadians are the enemy now?”

“When it comes to forcing me to sing a national anthem, then, yes.”  
  
Emma nodded slowly, fingers still wrapped around that absurdly blue tie and her phone buzzed with Merida’s response. “Ah, well, good thing you guys are going to win then, huh?”  
  
“A guarantee, love.”  
  
“Leaves little room for doubt.”  
  
“That is kind of how that works.”  
  
“Down with Canada or whatever.”  
  
“That’s the spirit,” Killian muttered, words barely audible when he pressed his lips against hers, fingers brushing up her spine and she’d forgotten about the tie entirely. She could feel him everywhere, jacket forgotten somewhere behind them and she hadn’t noticed that he’d undone the buttons at the top of his shirt either.

There wasn’t a playoff beard, just scruff and slightly-longer-than-normal hair and Emma’s fingers carded through it and thumb brushing against his jaw, earning a very specific type of groan from him. He tightened his grip on her waist, arm finding its way around her and she barely had time to marvel at _that_ before she found herself pulled flush against him, heels dragging across the floor.

There was no blue carpet in the Olympic media room.

There were, however, probably cameras. And neither one of them could seem to bring themselves to care, wrapped up in each other and the feel of it all and he was way too good at this.

They were way too good at this.

God, they’d made out at the Olympics now. Add that to the list.

“Come on, Cap,” Emma mumbled, breathing out the words when her lungs started protesting at a distinct lack of oxygen. “You’ve got to get in that absolutely awful sweater.”

He didn’t look bad in the sweater. Of course he didn’t. The hat, however, was a different story, tugged tight over his ears and she could barely see Killian’s hair anymore and that was, well, wrong.

He’d grumbled when she started to laugh about it.

And then sighed dramatically as soon as Robin and Will saw, both of them doubled over as they tried to pull their phones out and update Ariel on this latest Olympic development. Emma sent the picture to the Vankald family group chat.

“How long until they come out out?” Roland asked hours later, photos sent and social media updated and Emma sank into one of the chairs in the league-provided seats after nearly sprinting up several flights of stairs to see some of the Opening Ceremonies before she missed _too_ much.

“Soon, Rol,” Regina answered. “They’ve got to go in order.”

Ruby laughed, feet pressed up on the back of the seat in front of her and no one would be able to question where any of their allegiances lied. They were all practically a walking American flag at this point.

That was probably for the best because if media day was chaotic and jam-packed, then the Opening Ceremonies was somewhere in the realm of decidedly overwhelming, a stadium packed close to bursting, filled with screaming fans and languages and faces, all of them jumping and shouting even louder whenever their country made its way into the stadium.

It was almost painfully patriotic – more chants of _USA USA USA_ – and Emma tried to take it all in, this big and important and meaningful moment.

So, naturally, her phone buzzed.

“God, Em, silence it,” Ruby groaned, but she was staring at her own phone, fingers flying across the screen. Emma didn’t bother answering.

**_Did you know that the number four is unlucky in South Korea?_ **

She pulled her lips back behind her teeth, smile tugging on her mouth and her stomach flipped at the message, something about sentiment and that big and important and meaningful moment she was certain this was.

_Did you just know that?_

**_Are you not impressed, Swan?_ **

_You looked it up, didn’t you?_

**_You’re not countering with your own fact, love, I’d say that means you’re rather unprepared for the moment._ **

_I have had some other things going on. Norway has won more medals at the winter games than any other country. So add them to the list of countries you hate._

**_I don’t hate any countries. I am just trying to bring hockey glory back to America._ **

_And avoid singing._

**_That too._ **

_Did you really look something up?_

The responding message didn’t come for what felt like several hours, Emma’s phone resting in her palm while she watched a country she’d never heard of march into the arena. She didn’t realize what had happened until Roland started yelling – hands moving quickly to get both Regina and Emma’s attention – and Henry was standing too, camera in hand and smile on his face and even Ruby had pulled her feet back to the ground.

Emma couldn’t see him, even when she stood up and, for the second time that day, everything seemed to shift with her. She gripped the chair in front of her, leaning forward slightly and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to regain her center of gravity.

“You alright, Em?” Ruby asked, concern flooding her voice and Emma didn’t open her eyes when she nodded.

The music had shifted at some point – something loud and boisterous and Emma was fairly certain she could feel it _in_ her head. Or that might have just been her pulse. She couldn’t really breathe.

“Fine,” she bit out, but she didn’t stand up either and she could feel Roland’s hand on her back. That might have been Henry actually. “It’s just very high up. Vertigo or something. I don’t know, I’m not a doctor.”  
  
Ruby didn’t seem convinced. She was texting again. “If you text Killian about this,” Emma hissed, sinking back into the chair when Henry pushed her towards the seat. “I will actually push you out of the stadium.”  
  
That worked.

“You're fine,” Ruby muttered, stuffing her phone back in her pocket like that proved it.

Emma’s phone buzzed in her hand and she couldn’t see Killian, but the American contingent was a sea of red and white and blue and that God awful sweater and she almost felt patriotic. She also felt a bit sick to her stomach, but it was fine. She’d just had too much coffee. And not enough sleep.

They were going to win a gold medal.

She glanced down at her phone, swiping her thumb across the screen and the smile on her face made her feel just a bit better.

**For you, Swan.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hai guys! I'm so psyched that you guys are psyched about this story and reading this story and sending messages about this story. It honestly continues to blow my mind. A lot of things are going to happen in these two weeks and I'm super excited for you guys to read them. 
> 
> As always @laurenorder makes this better and you can come flail on Tumblr if you're down: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s awfully shiny, isn’t it?”

“It’s ice, Scarlet,” Killian said reasonably, slinging his feet over the seat in front of him and crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Robin made a noise in the back of his throat. “And it won’t be that shiny once we get on it.”  
  
“There’s a metaphor in there somewhere.”   
  
“Awfully depressing.”   
  
Will chuckled, slumping down slightly in his seat as he hit Killian’s shoulder, his other hand wrapped tightly around the soda they weren’t supposed to be drinking a few hours before puck drop.

They weren’t supposed to be there.

Well, no, that wasn’t really right either.

They were supposed to be in the locker room and getting ready and then, eventually, they’d skate and mess up the ice and play in the goddamn Olympics.

Only the New York Rangers contingent of Olympians were kind of playing hookie. They’d left the hotel absurdly early – something about traffic and the mountains and it took nearly two hours to get to the hockey arena anyway and they’d forced Scarlet to show up in the lobby again so they didn’t have to venture into the Village – and there’d been some kind of walkthrough in the hallway since they’d only really practiced a few times before they left the states and a team meal that all three of them had absolutely blown off.

They’d snuck food into the arena instead, the three of them sitting at the very top with their eyes on the ice and their feet on the chairs in front of them and something that felt a little bit like rookie season.

“What is it we’re eating right now, exactly?” Will asked, nodding towards the container he was somehow balancing in between his knees.

“You’re going to drop that,” Robin said.

“Shut up, Dad. What did the guy say this was?”  
  
“Gamja ngsimi,” Killian answered. “Potato dumplings.”   
  
“So we’re carb-loading is what you’re saying. Good thing it’s just pool play and we don’t really have to move.”   
  
“Don’t let Lucas hear you say that. That’s not PR appropriate. You don’t sound very psyched.

“No, psyched was Emma’s word,” Will argued. “Ruby’s too busy making sure none of the Stars guys end up Lochte-ing during the games.”  
  
“What does that even mean?”   
  
“You know, drama and headlines and robberies that didn’t really happen. The Stars guys would totally pull shit like that.”

“Ruby’s going to be mad we didn’t show,” Robin muttered. “There were probably pictures involved.”  
  
Killian ran his hand through his hair and the seats were horribly uncomfortable. Maybe the seats knew they’d blown off a Team USA meal like some weird, Rangers clique of first-liners and they weren’t going to be on the same line here.

That was probably why they’d blown it off.

They all spent far too much time together.

“No one wants to hang out with the enemy anyway,” Will reasoned, shrugging as if that settled that. And, well, it was kind of weird.

But this was what they’d argued for and signed a petition for wasn’t it? Getting the chance to play here and wear a brand-new uniform and if Killian ever admitted to being the sentimental fool he absolutely was, he’d probably say that playing in the Olympics was some kind of dream.

If he didn’t keep waking up with Emma’s hair in his face, he’d have been certain everything in the last few months was a dream, but here they were anyway – three New York Rangers on the other side of the world who couldn’t seem to do anything without the other two.

“Or Booth,” Robin added, leaning around Killian to glance conspiratorially in Will’s direction.

“Don’t start. He’s half the reason the Village sucks so much. I think he’s been trying to hook up with some girl from the Swiss bobsled team. Something about the uniform and the aerodynamics of it. I don’t know, it makes Rook blush every time he mentions it.”  
  
“How often are you hanging out with Booth?” Killian asked.

“He’s got to eat breakfast, Cap. And he doesn’t really know anyone except us. It’s not like there’s a surplus of ‘Canes players on this roster.”  
  
“Tell him to stay with the San Jose guys.”   
  
“There’s one San Jose guy here,” Will argued, lowering his eyebrows in confusion over whatever it was Killian was doing. He wasn’t really sure. He probably should have asked Emma before pool play started.

“And,” Robin continued, “that San Jose guy just got there this season. I doubt Booth knows much about him. Although trying to hook up with an Olympian does seem kind of, I don't know, gross.”  
  
“Who knew you were so prone to defending Swiss bobsledders,” Will laughed, somehow finding a way to slump down even further in the chair. “Actually, you know, what, I don’t think she’s a bobsledder. What’s the one where you’re more likely to die?”   
  
Robin shrugged. “Luge?”

“No, no, no, the other one. Where you’re just, like, on a board. There’s too many sports here.”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”   
  
“Yeah you do. C’mon, you know. It’s the one Henry wanted to see because there’s some kind of imminent threat of death.”   
  
“You need to stop encouraging that,” Robin sighed. “We’re not doing that anymore. And if you hit anyone tonight, Gina is absolutely going to kill you. You’re a horrible influence.”   
  
“I’m a fantastic influence. Did you see that check he laid on that kid a couple weeks ago? That was perfect.”   
  
“He’s thirteen, Scarlet. He shouldn’t really being checking anyone.”   
  
Will groaned, head rolling back to stare at the ceiling they probably weren’t supposed to be looking at and Killian was surprised no one had come looking for them yet. Ruby would push them in front of the zamboni.

Or maybe she’d just start checking them.

They weren’t on the same line here, she could take them out one at a time.

“That’s Gina talking and you know it,” Will muttered, ignoring Robin’s very pointed glare. “It is! Henry’s good. Come on, Cap, back me up on this one.”

There were other people in the arena now – facilities and volunteers and a goddamn zamboni on the ice, which didn’t make any sense because it looked the ice had only just been zamboni-ed. Or whatever the past tense of a verb that didn’t exist was.

He should have asked her already.

“Cap?” Will prompted, elbowing him in the side for good measure.

“Skeleton,” Killian answered and Will stared at him like he’d started speaking a different language.

“What?”  
  
“The sport you are looking for is skeleton.”   
  
Robin laughed loudly, head thrown back and his whole body shook from the force of it, one foot pressed against the back of the chair in front of them. He was going to leave dirt on the chair. “That’s totally what it is,” he mumbled, voice not quite even when he couldn’t quite stop laughing.

Will didn’t look impressed. “How do you know that?”  
  
“I know everything,” Killian shrugged.

He shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have answered whatever argument Scarlet and Locksley were having because this kind of felt like a conversation they’d had a year and a half ago and Killian was only doing this because he might be trying to find some kind of distraction. Or focus.

He wasn’t sure.

He couldn't believe they weren’t going to be on the same line.

Emma had been mad, muttering curses under her breath and how _it just doesn’t make any sense_ , pacing back and forth in the hotel room two hours away from the hockey arena when he’d told her the night before.

And he could feel something that felt a bit like pride or maybe just a general sense of certainty settle in the pit of his stomach at the look on her face, knowing, for sure, that her frustration with Olympic lines didn’t have anything to do with Rangers promotion.

She wanted him to play with his friends.

God, she wanted him to be happy.

He should have asked her then.

Will was still talking, leaning around Killian to mutter words in Robin’s direction and Robin’s eyes kept darting to his left, lips set in a thin, nervous line and Killian hadn’t been listening to them at all.

“Where’d you put it, anyway?” Will asked, finally turning back towards Killian and hitting against his shoulder again to get his attention.

Killian made a face. “What?”

“I mean, you obviously can’t keep it in your pads.” He paused to widen his eyes meaningfully and Killian resisted the very real urge to punch him in the face. _Psyched_ – they were psyched to be there and they wouldn’t hit anyone or check anyone and that, apparently, included teammates who, for the first time _years_ , weren’t playing on the same line together for the foreseeable future.

“Shut up, Scarlet,” Robin hissed, but Will didn’t stop. That seemed to be a trend. Bailing on team food had been his idea.

“No, no, no, I’m serious. Come on, Cap. Where are you keeping it? Is it in your pocket now? Oh, God, don’t keep it in your locker here, some guy from Slovakia will steal it or something when we win.”

“That seems like a broad generalization of Slovakians,” Killian muttered.

“And that seems like you’re trying to avoid answering my question.”  
  
“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about at all.”   
  
“The ring!”   
  
Killian nearly slid off the chair. Or punched Scarlet. Or maybe Robin. He couldn’t really hit them both at the same time.

Maybe if they were on the ice.

“How?” Killian asked, but he kept his eyes trained on Robin who just held his hands up in surrender.

“Not from me, Cap,” he promised. “I only told Gina.”  
  
Killian groaned, running a hand over his face and he was totally going to fuck up his back if he didn’t sit up straight again. “You weren’t supposed to tell anyone.”   
  
“Yeah, that’s not how that works.”   
  
“Locksley didn’t tell me,” Will cut in and Robin made some kind of noise that could only be construed as _see_. There were more people in the arena now.

“How then?”

“Anna.”  
  
It was worse than Locksley. God damn. The entire _fucking_ team probably knew now. The entire United States probably knew. He was going to fly to Colorado and...he couldn't fly to Colorado.

He had a hockey game to play in a few hours.

“What time is it at home?” Killian snapped, pushing up to grab his phone out of his pocket and do something. He still hadn’t quite figured out what that something was.

Robin glared at Will – some kind of _this is your fault_ look that was absolutely accurate – and pulled the phone out of Killian’s hand before he could actually call Colorado to yell at all of them. He was already convinced it wasn’t just Anna talking.

“Deep breaths, Cap,” Robin mumbled. He made a face when Killian lunged for the phone, foot nearly colliding with a forgotten cup on the ground and maybe Henry wasn’t the only teenager in the New York Rangers Olympic contingent.

“Who else knows?” Will asked.

“Besides the entire continental United States,” Killian grumbled. He wasn’t even a teenager. He was a toddler. He should have asked the night before.

Tonight. He’d do it tonight.

He couldn’t do it tonight.

They’d already skipped the Team USA meal, bonding, don’t act like you want to hit your linemate sessions – they couldn’t miss post-game plans with, well, each other. And asking Emma to _marry him_ , God, could not happen with the New York Rangers first line watching a few feet away while they made fun of the entire country of Lithuania.

No, he couldn’t do it tonight.

“Cap,” Will continued and Killian tried not to sigh too loudly. It didn’t really matter – his phone would have drowned out anything he wanted to say.

“No, but really,” Killian sighed. “What time is it at home?”

Will shrugged and the phone was still ringing. “Three? Thirteen hours. Why can none of us remember this?”  
  
“Nuh uh,” Robin corrected. “One.”   
  
“Wait, what?”   
  
“It’s one in the morning in Colorado.” Will and Killian turned at that, the phone held loosely in Robin’s right hand and he tried to smile encouragingly – it didn’t really work. “It’s El.”

Killian shook his head, crossing his arms again and they didn’t have time for this. They were already eating on borrowed time – the sounds of the arena coming to life behind them making it almost painfully obvious how much they _weren’t_ supposed to be there – and he certainly didn’t have time to discuss why he hadn’t shouted proposals yet.

“Are you for real, Cap?” Robin sighed. Killian shrugged. “Oh my God, fine, fine” he grumbled, swiping his thumb across the screen and pressing it up against his ear. “Hey, El.”  
  
Killian could hear her – the questions and the slightly frustrated voice and, somehow, Anna on the other end, with more questions and threats to Scarlet’s entire being if he told Killian that she’d told him and this was a convoluted mess.

He’d left the ring in a safe in the hotel lobby.

“No,” Robin said, answering a question Killian had been too distracted to try and listen to. “Of course not. No, we totally blew them off. Yeah, yeah, it was Scarlet’s idea.”  
  
“How did she know that?” Will shouted and Killian ran his hand through his hair, pre-game anxiety and pre-proposal anxiety rushing through every inch of him and he suddenly regretted every promise he’d made to the league, certain if he could just check _something_ , everything would be absolutely fine.

They needed to get on the ice.

Anna yelled something from Colorado and he could hear Elsa hiss something else in response – it was one in the morning, they shouldn’t be yelling anything – and he sighed again before holding his hand out expectantly.

“Finally,” Robin muttered at the same time Will demanded he _put them on speaker phone_. He did. And they were still yelling in Colorado.

“KJ did you honestly say you wouldn’t talk to us?” Elsa asked, clearly trying to keep the edge out of her voice. It worked about as well as Robin’s attempt at encouraging a few moments before.

“We’ve got a game to get ready for El,” Killian reasoned.

“You snuck food into the arena.”  
  
“How did you know that?”   
  
“Locksley said you guys didn’t go to forced team meals. I figured you had to eat at some point and,” she added, voice dropping a few octaves and Killian’s heart stuttered in his chest. “All four of you did that before the very first opener. Makes sense you’d do it during the Olympics too.”   
  
His lungs felt tight and the pocket he’d obsessively been keeping the ring in for the last three days felt distinctly empty and they were all a bunch of sentimental fools, the whole lot of them.

They were supposed to do something remotely educational on their off day later that week. Maybe he could ask her then.

That was, almost, romantic.

He should have done it as soon as he’d bought the stupid thing weeks ago.

“You remember too much, El,” he mumbled and she made some kind of impossible noise on the other end.

Anna took a deep breath. “How come you haven’t done it yet, KJ?” she asked. “I thought we decided you’d do it to get it out of the way before you guys started playing. You’re going to be distracted enough without Locksley and Scarlet on the ice with you.”  
  
“I know how to skate without Locksley or Scarlet.”   
  
“Please,” Will scoffed. “Who’s going to get those cross-ice passes to you? And defend your honor when guys start asking questions and talking about your internet presence.”   
  
“What?”   
  
Will’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open, like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d said. Robin hit him, pushing around Killian to level Will with a punch in the shoulder and there was more noise coming from Colorado.

“Scarlet,” Anna cried. “We said we weren’t going to bring that up until after the first game. Let him get his sea legs first.”  
  
“Bring what up?” Killian demanded and he was standing now, potato dumplings and against-the-rules soda forgotten as soon as he felt the first pulse of anger flash down his spine. He was going to just start hitting pucks up against the boards during warmups.

There was a groan somewhere on the other end, something that sounded in the realm of exhausted and frustrated and the sound of the phone changing hands made noise when Liam, presumably, grabbed it from Elsa.

“Did you not look around when you bought the ring?” Liam asked, barking out the question like he was shouting line changes at them from the other side of the country.

“God, Liam, shut up,” Elsa sighed.

“No, seriously, he needs to know what’s going on. What happens if someone tells Emma about it?”

Elsa made a noise and Anna grumbled something under her breath, a string of curses that she hadn’t even used when Will gave up whatever secret Killian, apparently, had to know. And he could barely tell the difference between the noise in the arena and whatever was happening on the phone.

They were going to wake up three children.

“Alright, alright,” Killian yelled, having to repeat himself before Elsa started shouting as well, the bed creaking when she sank onto it and huffed loudly. “What is happening that I so desperately have to know about before, just so we’re clear here, the first Olympic game any of us have ever played?”  
  
“We know it’s your first Olympics, KJ, we read _The Post_ story,” Anna mumbled. “And you better make sure that Canadian guy holds up on his end of the bet.”   
  
“Was that confidence, Banana?”   
  
“No, I just don’t want to hear you butcher the national anthem in public. You’ll never be able to live that down and then Emma won’t want to marry you.”

“Jeez.”  
  
“Anna, can you be serious for two seconds?” Liam asked and Will hummed in the back of his throat, lips ticking down when he glanced meaningfully at Robin.

Killian groaned. There were footsteps behind them now too – probably security wondering why the first line of the New York Rangers, but not Team USA, was camped in section 304 like they’d actually bought tickets to this game.

“Just tell him, Liam,” Robin said softly, glancing nervously at Killian as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “Gina saw it yesterday,” he added, like that explained anything at all.

“Of course she did,” Killian said. “Alright, Liam. Out with it.”  
  
Liam actually laughed. The ass. And it was definitely a security guard behind them, something that sounded a bit like _you can’t be in here yet_ making its way towards the seats they’d absolutely scuffed up.

“Captain voice,” Elsa said and maybe they should have done this on FaceTime. It was probably doing damage to someone’s data plan.

“Liam,” Killian snapped, blinking once as Will and Robin practically jumped to attention next to him. The bed creaked again and Elsa was probably sitting up straighter.

“Someone saw you,” Liam answered.

“What?”  
  
“I’m surprised Lucas hasn’t said anything to you yet.”   
  
“They blew off the meal,” Elsa explained and Liam made a noise of understanding.

“Of course they did. You’re all in the arena aren’t you?”  
  
Will chuckled under his breath and even Robin looked a little bit wistful. Killian’s lungs were shrinking. That couldn’t be healthy – at least not with the amount of potato dumplings he’d already consumed.

“They are,” Anna answered when no one else did. “And you’re stalling, Liam. You just don’t want to hurt his feelings.”  
  
“Yeah, well, he was trying to do a good thing,” Liam argued.   
  
“And I can’t believe he went to an actual store.”   
  
Robin and Will practically exploded next to him, mouths hanging open and eyes wide and one of them punched his side. Killian wasn’t sure which one.

“You can’t order a ring online,” he explained, only to be met by five groans and sighs of varying volume and intensity. Liam sounded as if he’d thrown a pillow filled with bricks across the room. “You can’t! It’s got to be personal! You’ve got to actually look at it!”  
  
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Anna muttered.

Robin’s third attempt at _encouraging_ fell short – again. “You actually went to a store?” he asked incredulously. “When?”   
  
Ah, there it was. The million-dollar question. And one Killian was surprised none of the incredibly interfering people in his life had asked yet.

Anna let out a low whistle and she was probably jumping up and down if Elsa’s quiet reprimand was anything to go off of. And Killian had only sort of, kind of told Elsa – at least about the proposal or the _idea_ of a proposal, it didn’t seem to really count until he could figure out half a plan and some kind of vaguely romantic setting. He’d have to get the ring out of the safe to do any of that.

Liam was the only one who knew.

“Has Liam known this entire time?” Will pressed. He’d been the one to hit him. Killian made a noncommittal noise, clicking his tongue and twisting his neck back and forth. “Is that how A knows?”  
  
“Oh my God, Scarlet, shut up,” Robin said. “Cap’s going to check you into the boards during line changes later tonight.”   
  
“Shouldn’t you guys be in the locker room soon anyway?” Liam asked and this conversation had, officially, fallen off its hinges. "Also Anna told A, so, back up eight-hundred steps on that front."

Anna screeched and even Robin looked disgruntled – Killian had never actually answered the question. Or gotten an answer, if he was being honest. He was only slightly terrified of the internet and what it had seen and what it was, collectively, saying about him.

Again.

God damn.

“August,” Killian yelled, shouting the word in the suddenly crowded arena and even the security guard took a step back at the tone in his voice.

Liam laughed again.

“I bought it in August,” he continued, staring at the still-shiny ice and trying to will his lungs to expand back to their biologically-assigned size. “Right before camp started and, like, as soon as we got back from Colorado.”  
  
“The next day more like,” Liam added.

“The very next day if we all want to be completely honest here. What has Red been doing anyway?”  
  
“She’s been very bored,” Elsa said. “I think she’s honestly posting things on the SubReddit under some random username. She’s the one who told us about it.”   
  
“It being what here, exactly?”   
  
“That someone saw you in the store, although they left out that it was August, KJ. We’ll circle back around to both of you not telling me that particular bit of information when you mentioned _thinking_ about it. Thinking about it doesn’t usually mean you’ve just been holding onto a ring for the last six months…”   
  
“Focus, El.”   
  
She huffed slightly – probably flipping her hair over her shoulders for good measure as well – and Killian felt himself smiling out of habit. “Anyway,” she continued pointedly. “Ariel sent us the link and someone claims they’re on, brace yourself KJ, _engagement watch_ , that was actually the headline of the post.”   
  
“Is a headline if it’s just the internet?” Robin asked, leaning towards the phone to make sure they could hear him over the security guard behind them. None of them had actually moved yet.

“Title?” Elsa amended. “Lede? No, that’s just for print too, right?”  
  
Killian blinked, the start of a headache blooming in between his eyes and pressed his fingers on either side of his nose.

Liam wasn’t wrong – he was trying to do this _right_ , go through the motions in some kind of Vankald family cliché way and, God, Killian wanted to actually hold the ring before he bought it. That didn’t seem like too much to ask.

That wasn’t how the world worked.

And there’d never been a _good_ time. He’d bought the ring, certain this was what he had to do and what he wanted to do and he couldn’t get the picture of Emma on the swingset in the backyard out of his mind and all he wanted was something tangible to prove something like that was even _possible_. So he’d walked to 6th Avenue the day after they got back, blowing off PT completely, and he bought a ring and he told Liam.   
  
The only problem, however, was getting the ring on Emma’s finger.

There was camp and preseason and games on games on games and they were _defending champions_ , which was something Killian had never quite been ready for and that, apparently, meant more questions and more stories and not enough time to do anything except cart a ring box back and forth between their apartment and Madison Square Garden.

“Where were you even keeping it?” Will asked suddenly, like he’d only just realized Killian wasn’t sharing the entire story.

“In my gear bag,” Killian muttered and he was half convinced the security guard even laughed. “Alright, alright, enough. What else did it say, El? Anything?”  
  
She hummed. “People can’t believe you haven’t done it yet. Who knew hockey fans were so gossipy.”   
  
“This is absolutely insane, we’re all aware of this, right?”

“How come you haven’t asked then?”  
  
Killian rolled his eyes, glancing towards the security guard who looked about as invested in this conversation as anyone in the actual conversation.

“Asked what?”

Even the security guard froze.

Robin pulled the phone out of Killian’s hand, ducking his head away from Emma’s glare and she lifted her eyebrows, frustration practically radiating off her. Killian swung his leg over the chair he’d been sitting in, nearly sprinting up the open aisle towards her – and her crossed arms, shoulders set in straight line when he skidded to a stop in front of her.

“Did you just get here, Swan?” Killian asked, trying not to will the three voices on the phone to be quiet. It didn’t work.

“No,” she said, voice clipped.

“Where’ve you been?”  
  
“Excuse me?”   
  
Killian rocked back on his heels, eyes darting towards Robin as he muttered _we got to go, guys_ and Emma’s face didn’t change. She didn’t even blink.

She’d been taking glare lessons from Regina.

“Uh,” Killian stuttered, fingers finding the back of his hair. “I take it you’ve been looking for us.”  
  
Emma nodded slowly, tongue pressed on the inside of her cheek. “What gave it away?”   
  
“We did kind of blow off team meal.”   
  
“And photos for the Rangerstown site. Ruby was going to send them to me so I could put them up on the site since it’s three in the morning at home and we can’t legally make Mer work for twenty-four hours a day.”   
  
“She would.”   
  
“That’s not the point.”   
  
“Yeah, I know. How long have you been looking?”   
  
“Ruby called me an hour ago,” Emma said, turning to glare at Will and Robin. They both winced. “She probably tried to call you too. I’d imagine there’s a very long and detailed voicemail on that phone of everything she plans to do to you guys later.”   
  
Robin whistled. “Oh, shit, Cap, she called, like five times.” He squeezed his eyes shut, twisting in the chair to look at Emma. “Sorry, Emma, we didn’t see your texts.”   
  
Killian’s heart plummeted, straight through several different sections of the arena and onto the ice and then maybe it got run over by the zamboni that was back out there. “How many times did you text, love?”   
  
“Somewhere in the realm of a dozen.”   
  
Her shoulders sagged slightly when she spoke, eyes falling down to her shoes and Killian took a step towards her before he could remember there were other people sitting a few seats away. Not to mention the security guard.

He brushed his thumb against her cheek, pushing his fingers into her hair. “I’m sorry, Swan.”  
  
“Is this a thing?” she asked.

“What?”

“This,” Emma repeated, nodding towards a still repentant-looking Will and Robin. “Like the ritual or whatever. Although kind of different because you guys have never been to the Olympics before. That’s what happening, isn’t it?”  
  
The ring was sitting in a hotel safe several hours away, so he couldn’t actually ask her to marry him right there, but, God, if he didn’t want to.

Maybe just a bit desperately.

Will laughed loudly, draping his body over the back of a chair. “Man, you’re good at this, Emma.”  
  
Killian still hadn’t moved his hand. “Yeah, Swan,” he mumbled, lips pressed against the crown of her head and he could feel her shoulders loosen just a bit more. “It’s definitely a thing.”   
  
“Can I have some food?”   
  
“What?”   
  
“I haven’t eaten yet.”   
  
“Swan.”   
  
Emma shrugged, twisting her lips slightly and maybe his heart hadn’t actually fallen out of his body – it was beating far too fast for that.

“Come carb-load with us, Emma,” Will said, sitting back up and grabbing the half-eaten container of dumplings.

“Is that good before a game?” she asked. “That can’t be good before a game.”

“It’s Slovakia, no one cares about Slovakia.”  
  
“Don’t let Ruby hear you say that.”   
  
“Ah, but you’re in charge of us, Swan,” Killian pointed out, slinging his arm over her shoulder and she didn’t object, just rolled her eyes in response.

“Yeah, fat lot of good that’s done me. You guys are stressful and you’re only three people. And this new coach can…whatever, not putting you guys on the same line together. The internet is going to riot.”  
  
“Yeah, we’re not real big fans of the internet,” Robin said, holding a hand out so Emma could step over one of the chair, Killian’s hand falling to her waist.

Emma nodded in understanding, sinking into the seat Killian had been sitting in. Will handed her the container and she hummed in approval at the mass amount of potato dumplings they’d snuck into an Olympic arena.

“These are good,” she mumbled, trying to talk without actually opening her mouth. Will was probably never going to stop laughing. “So are you guys, officially, psyched?”  
  
They ate until the security guard over to them again and they probably should have been in the locker room thirty-minutes ago, Emma muttering something about _responsibility_ under her breath when she tugged on the front of Killian’s jacket.

“You guys absolutely lucked out,” Emma said, scanning the locker room for signs of Team USA gear or red highlights. “I kind of figured Rubes would just be here with skates waiting to stab all three of you.”  
  
“Skates,” Killian repeated. “That’s kind of dark, isn’t it?”   
  
“You didn’t listen to that voicemail. And you did manage to fuck up a whole team meal.”   
  
Killian scuffed his shoe against the locker room floor, shrugging out of his jacket and, huh, that was the first time he’d seen that since they landed in South Korea.

They’d done it before they left – put them all in jerseys and posed them at the Olympic training center and it was actually pretty close to Liam and Elsa and they'd showed up, unannounced, and Elsa had, absolutely, cried.   
  
But this was the first time he’d seen his name on a Team USA jersey at the actual Olympics and, somehow, that seemed to make it just a bit more real than it had been before.

“Killian Jones, Olympian,” Emma muttered, head resting on the side of his shoulder.

His laugh was shaky, a weird, anxious sound that didn’t really match up with the certainty he felt, positive they were absolutely going to _roll_ through pool play, but he could feel nearly every inch of her against him and her fingers ghosting through his hair sent a distinct chill down his spine.

“Looks a little weird, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“No.”  
  
“So much faith, Swan.”   
  
“An appropriate amount. More if you score tonight.”   
  
“Is that a request, love?”   
  
“Maybe.”   
  
“Maybe a demand?”   
  
“Yeah, well, who has the keys to the hotel room?”   
  
Killian glanced at her, smile tugging on the ends of his mouth and her eyes were distractingly green. And bright. And staring right at him. “How many goals are we talking here?”   
  
“Two? And an assist.”   
  
“That’s an awful lot,” Killian said and Emma just shrugged.   
  
“I thought Slovakia was nothing to worry about. Plus, they’re not supposed to hit you. You can just stick-handle through all of that.”   
  
“You know, I think that was actually a compliment, Swan.”   
  
“Nah, no need to pad that ego, Cap.”   
  
He forgot they were in a locker room. He forgot he had to put on pads and that jersey he still couldn’t quite believe was hanging a few feet away from them and the only thing Killian Jones, Olympian or otherwise, could think about doing was kissing Emma Swan.

And then scoring two goals and notching an assist.

For her.

She wasn’t wearing heels and she had to press up on her toes to meet him, weight resting on his arm where it was wrapped around her waist, but it didn’t really matter.

“You’re going to get us both in trouble if you don’t get changed,” Emma mumbled.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I’m not.” She kissed him quickly, lips barely brushing against his before she pulled away and Emma laughed softly when he actually _whined_ as soon as she took a step back. “You know, I never got an answer before.”   
  
“About?”   
  
“Who you were talking to. It was Liam, wasn’t it?”

“You’re a mind reader, Swan.”  
  
“El and Anna too, right?” Killian nodded. “Anna’s very excited for tonight’s game, apparently she’s got very fond memories of Slovakia and some mountain and Kristoff…”   
  
Killian groaned. “Why do you know that?”   
  
“I’m part of the group chat, remember?”

“And that’s all Banana mentioned in the group chat? Just thoughts on Slovakia?”

Emma narrowed her eyes and he hadn’t really done a good job of asking the question he was trying to avoid. “Was she supposed to be asking about something else?”  
  
“No, of course not.”   
  
“You’re a God awful liar.”   
  
“I’m not lying, Swan.” That was a lie. Well, no, a stretch of the truth. At worst. At best it was maybe just an exaggeration.

“Yuh huh. Are you looking at the internet, is that what’s going on?”  
  
He tried to take a deep breath and Robin dropped several pounds of equipment a few lockers away. At least that’s what it sounded like. “Why would you say that?”

“We just went over this. You’re awful at lying. And Robin said you guys weren’t big fans of the internet. Oh, and Graham asked if I’d seen anything lately. I’m not David, but I can put together clues sometimes.”  
_  
Think of something. Say something. Ask her to marry you now. _

He didn’t say anything.

He’d forgotten every word he knew.

“Anything to add, Cap?” Emma asked.

“That was me, Emma,” Will said quickly, stepping back into the main locker room in pads with his jersey draped over his shoulder.

Emma blinked. “What?”  
  
“Just stuff in the Village and Booth’s trying to get with some Swiss skeleton’er or whatever you’d call them and Phillip and I were around when he was talking and I think some reporter heard it. It ended up on the SubReddit.”   
  
She didn’t look convinced. And Killian couldn’t move.

“A skeleton’er?” Emma repeated.

“Yup,” Will answered, popping his lips on the final letter for emphasis.

“Is that the technical term, you think?”  
  
“I don’t know, but we should probably find out because Henry wants to go.”   
  
“For the Swiss skeleton’er?”   
  
“I don’t think he’s particular about the nationality, just wants to see them race.”   
  
“We can do that, right, Swan?” Killian asked and Emma snapped her head towards him. “Maybe on an off day if it times up?”   
  
“I don’t see why not,” she said.

The locker room was starting to fill up again – more players and coaches and Killian still hadn’t changed yet. No wonder they didn’t want to put all the Rangers on the same line, they spent far too much time talking.

“You better get changed,” Emma muttered, pushing her finger against the line of buttons on his shirt. “Two goals and an assist, Jones.”  
  
She kissed him again – quick and easy and so goddamn _normal_ he couldn’t believe there was still a ring sitting several hours away. Killian exhaled loudly as soon as she was out the door, sinking onto the bench in front of his locker and squeezing his eyes shut.

“You owe me, Cap,” Will said and he couldn't even begin to argue with him.

* * *

“Can you actually try and, you know, hit the goal this time?” Robin asked, swinging his legs back over the boards while Killian moved back on the ice and this was weird.

He’d hated playing on the wrong line in Boston and Arthur hadn’t even dared to suggest he switch things up this season – all of them far too aware of the goddamn internet – and, well, playing without Locksley and Scarlet on the other side of the world was, decidedly, weird.

Slovakia didn’t really pose much of a threat.

None of the teams in their pool did, but they couldn’t actually say that _out loud_ because it wasn’t PR appropriate and the US hadn’t even medaled at Sochi.

Overconfidence wasn’t a good look.

Yet.

They should probably finish absolutely destroying Slovakia first.

And they were.

The third period had just started and they were already up by four and Killian had scored once and assisted once – put on a line with _Booth_ , God help him – but it was that second goal he couldn’t quite seem to get.

It was driving him nuts. He must have taken nine shots in the second period alone.

“Shut up,” Killian muttered and Robin probably couldn’t even hear him, already on the bench next to a visibly amused Will.

“You know, if you keep just forcing this, it’s not going to work,” Booth shouted knowingly, puck on his stick and there wasn’t a single Slovakian player nearby. They didn’t have a single pro on their roster and if Killian wasn’t desperately trying to score that second goal, he probably would have felt bad for how horrendously they were beating them.

They were kids.

There were actual teenagers out there on the ice and, he was certain, at one point, one of them had lost his edge solely because he’d noticed Killian moving next to him.

Will laughed about that for most of the second intermission.

And this new coach – who told them just to call him Ignis, which was apparently some kind of nickname he picked up in college _God_ , and apparently hadn’t been out of Chicago in several seasons, wearing Blackhawks gear to the first team walkthrough – didn’t break any whiteboards, but he didn’t seem particularly impressed by Scarlet either.

Or anything, really.

He just kind of seemed to be going through the motions of it all. He probably had a ‘Hawks shirt on underneath his suit.

Killian should ask Ruby about that.

He’d do it after the game. And after he scored that second shot.

“I’m not forcing anything,” Killian answered, nodding towards Booth when he set up in front of the net. “At least not really.”  
  
“Not yet, you mean.”   
  
Killian rolled his eyes, rocking back and forth on his skate and if Booth scored again, he might actually punch him. He was almost _too_ open.

The closest defender was some sort of infant, at least half of Killian’s size and his pads looked like they might actually overwhelm him at some point. He kind of looked like he was drowning in equipment.

And then he started talking.

Killian didn’t expect that.

“What?” he asked, doing his best to keep the surprise out of his voice. “Are you actually talking right now?”  
  
“Uh, yeah,” the player said as he glanced over his shoulder back at Killian. “Sorry. Is that not cool?”   
  
“Cool?”   
  
“Well, you look kind of busy.”   
  
“Playing hockey,” Killian said slowly, not entirely certain he was sure what was going on. What a weird day. What a weird game.

Fuck, he just wanted to score again.

He moved, trying to find a bit of open ice and the kid followed, trailing behind him so closely Killian was certain he simply put his skates in the same line.

“What are you doing?” Killian asked and, that time, the surprise was more like frustration. He shouldn’t be frustrated. They were _winning_ , by a lot, but he’d promised two goals and an assist and damn anyone who was going to try and make sure that didn’t happen.

The kid – _player_ , Olympian, god this was the Olympics and he was half-arguing with someone from Slovakia and he wasn’t even sure what the argument was about. Killian leaned back, trying to make out a last name and it didn’t really work

“Um, it’s Demitra,” he said, half out of breath when they both found themselves against the boards, trying to work out a loose puck. They’d had the puck in the zone for what felt like several hours.

And Killian still hadn’t scored his second goal.

“Wait, what?” Killian asked, twisting his stick in his hand while he tried to stay upright.

“Weren’t you trying to figure out what my name is?”  
  
“I’m trying to score a goal.”   
  
“Oh, yeah, yeah, that makes sense too.”   
  
Killian hummed in the back of his throat, widening his eyes meaningfully as he kicked at the puck, finally, able to pull it away from the boards and onto his stick. The kid still hadn’t moved. And, maybe, Killian was, sort of, showing off.

“Jeez, Jones,” August sighed, skating a bit slower than he would have if this was a real game with any sort of real competition.

They were going to roll through pool play.

Killian grinned, knocking the puck around another outstretched stick and they’d been in Slovakia’s zone for so long no one even tried to block his shot.

August groaned and Killian didn’t even bother to look back at him when he found himself a few feet away from the net with a wide-open lane and a corner of the net that was practically begging to be scored on.

“Shoot,” August yelled. The entire Team USA bench was screaming. Will was probably laughing again.

“Fine, fine, relax,” Killian muttered, dimly aware of a still-yet-to-be-completely-named defender several steps behind him. He pulled back with ease and it felt a bit like warmups, or helping Henry at the Piers.

He knew it wouldn’t always be this easy – they couldn’t win every game by six goals – but pool play was a different story and Killian was going to show off in front of Slovakian hockey players and impress his girlfriend and then, maybe, everything else would just settle into place.

They could give the internet something legitimate to talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Killian Jones is a nervous wreck and over-the-top romantic and everyone knows it. The Slovakian hockey team probably knows it. As always I can't thank you guys enough for every click, comment and kudos. It's the best. 
> 
> @laurenorder fixed this and made it better. Come flail on Tumblr if you're down: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

All things considered, it went pretty well. 

Even with that kid talking to him. 

Killian scored two goals and assisted on Scarlet’s in his very first Olympic game, muttering about _that pass_ the entire walk back to the locker room until Will actually turned around to glare at him, narrowing his eyes and doing his best to look intimidating.

It didn’t really work.

And he couldn’t stop smiling or actually keep his hands still enough to unlace his skates without nearly cutting off one of his fingers.

It wasn’t quite as hectic as it had been during the Cup run – not as many photographers or media, but there were more league reps than Killian could remember seeing at any Rangers game, all of them determined to make sure that none of them had actually gotten hurt.

“God, I’m fine,” Will muttered, almost physically pushing away a rep when they tried to examine a bruise on his elbow. “I did that to myself in the first period. Did you even watch the game?”  
  
“It’s because he doesn’t know how to actually skate,” Killian added. Robin rolled his eyes.

“Jeez, Cap, stop,” he sighed. “I’m already out twenty bucks, anyway.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Locksley bet me twenty bucks on the flight over here that I wouldn’t be able to keep my hit count under five in the first game,” Will explained and Killian nearly fell off the bench in front of his locker, chest shaking with laughter. He still hadn’t taken his skates off yet.  
  
“It was supposed to be all of pool play,” Robin added, ignoring the several outstretched records and reporters and this would probably be a blog post in a few hours. “But he didn’t have a single hit tonight, so, you know, we changed the deal a little bit.”  
  
“And I’m sure Scarlet couldn’t use the twenty bucks to buy some food later on tonight, huh?” Killian asked knowingly.

Will groaned. “Whatever, Cap. Not all of us have room service at our disposal all the time.”  
  
“You were the one who decided they wanted a full Olympic experience. What are you going to do when Belle gets here? Isn’t she staying with Lucas?”  
  
“It concerns me that you know that.”  
  
“I know everything.”  
  
“And,” Robin cut in, resting his elbows on his knees like he was disciplining his actual children. “Emma has every hour of the next two weeks scheduled. It’s not Cap, that’s impressive. It’s Emma.”  
  
“Ah,” Will shrugged. “That kind of makes me feel better, actually. Now, come on, pay up Locksley. Or, you know, buy me dinner.”  
  
“It’s going to be nearly two in the morning by the time we get back.”  
  
“Did I say I wanted you to buy me dinner in the Village?” Robin shook his head, clearly torn between yelling and sighing and maybe starting to laugh. “Then, I don’t see what the problem is. Buy me more of those dumpling things. They were good before Emma ate them all.”

This was absolutely going to be a blog post – probably on every major platform in the states – and maybe Killian should text Ariel _that_ because she’d been nothing if not consistently frustrating over the last three days.

His inbox was, probably, going to explode. Or something. If that could happen. Probably not. He might just throw his phone off a mountain.

Maybe a ski jump.

That seemed a bit more Olympic.

And everyone seemed to _know_ except Emma. God, the internet knew. Ariel’s not quite-veiled text message threats seemed pretty appropriate.

“Cap, your phone,” Robin muttered, nodding toward the sound coming out of his locker and Killian groaned, rolling his head back and wondering where Ruby had ended up again. No one had told them where to go after media.

Killian grabbed the still-ringing phone out of his jacket pocket and, eventually, he’d like to get the chance to shower before more media scrums or overbearing friends on the other side of the world.

“Red,” he sighed, not even letting her get a word out before he started talking. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”  
  
Ariel groaned on the other end. “I’m not made of glass, Cap. And I was asleep. It’s, like, 8:30 in the morning here. Up and at ‘em or whatever.”  
  
“Yeah, I think that’s the opposite of what you’re supposed to be doing.”  
  
“I’m bored though.”  
  
“So I’ve been informed. Stop calling Colorado.”  
  
“It’s easier than calling you. And you’re ignoring my texts.”  
  
“I’m not,” Killian argued. “I answered you two days ago. It’s just been kind of busy here.”  
  
“Busy making big, future-type plans?”  
  
He hated everyone. He hated every single person associated with the New York Rangers organization or, maybe, the entire sport of hockey and he shouldn’t have told _anyone_. He should have ordered the goddamn ring online, got it shipped to their apartment and then asked Emma Swan to marry him as soon as it was delivered.

He should have done it at home.

In bed, with the pillows and her hair in his face and the quiet that, apparently, was impossible to find at the Olympics.

“Are you even listening to me?” Ariel asked and Killian wasn’t sure when he’d completely toned her out, only certain that he absolutely hadn’t been listening to her.

“No.”  
  
“Killian!”  
  
“There are reporters around, Red We, literally, just got off the ice. Your timing is eerily on point.”  
  
“That almost wasn’t entirely on purpose.”  
  
“It’s the almost that worries me.”  
  
“Ah, well, at least it’s not Colorado. You could be getting the third-degree from them and not me, who is, simply, asking general questions about your well-being and whether or not you’ve hurt yourself yet.”  
  
“No, hits,” Killian promised. “Not even bruised. And you missed out on that third-degree before game-time. You know all of you almost ruined everything.”  
  
Ariel gasped. “Excuse me? I don’t appreciate being lumped in with all of them here. What time was that even for them?”  
  
“Like one. It was absolutely your fault, Red. You can’t go searching for internet rumors. The whole lot of them called to yell and Anna has probably scared the twins for life at this point, trying to plan everything and Emma almost heard.”  
  
“You haven’t asked yet?!”  
  
Killian slumped down, hand dragging across his face and he kicked in Will’s general vicinity when he actually started snickering a few feet away from him. “Ariel, come on,” he started slowly, but she cut him off almost immediately.

“No, no, no, none of that. What are you waiting for? Why did you buy it in August if you weren’t going to ask before the season started?”  
  
“Stuff’s come up,” Killian sighed and he could practically see Ariel rolling her eyes in front of him.

“That’s the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best not to actually hurt himself when he pressed his fingers into his cheek bones and he was almost certain he heard Robin try to ask him what was wrong. Killian brushed him off, standing up and pushing through the sea of reporters and league reps and someone asked if he needed a trainer, only to hear Ariel, mutter _athletic trainer_ in his ear.

It was a new arena – the smell of the paint somehow still potent even in the slightly abandoned hallway Killian found himself in, everything just a bit too clean and bit too off-white and for as much as he wanted to be there, wanted to be an _Olympian_ in some grand, far-reaching, dream-like sense, he also missed New York and the Garden and everything that felt a bit less chaotic.

And maybe a bit more romantic.

He wanted it to be romantic. He wanted it to be _perfect_ and he wasn’t going to ask until it was.

Emma Swan deserved perfect.

“Oh,” Ariel said softly, jerking Killian out of his thoughts and he’d almost forgotten there was still a phone in his hand. “El is absolutely some kind of witch.”  
  
“What?” he snapped and Ariel just laughed.

“She was totally right. Man, she’s going to be annoying after this.”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Red.”  
  
“When I called them last night, the three of us were trying to figure out why you were being such an idiot about this and carting a ring around for _months_ and Liam said the internet was right and it just didn’t make any sense at all, but then El said she knew why.”  
  
Of course she did.

Killian sank onto the floor, one skate unlaced and the his jersey still on. “What did she say?”  
  
“You absolutely already know.”  
  
“Humor me, Red.”  
  
“She said you were going to be way too paranoid about it being exactly the way it should be in some sort of grand-sweeping, over-the-top way. And that you probably couldn’t do that during the middle of the season, so you’d resorted to just carrying the ring around with you at all times on the off chance that, maybe, the moment happened.”  
  
He didn’t say anything. And that was as much of an answer as any sort of word he could come up with. Ariel laughed again.

“I knew it,” she said. “El’s magic.”  
  
“Nah,” Killian objected, running a hand through his hair and that had been a mistake. They’d rolled to a win, but skating was still some kind of movement and he really should take a shower before they even considered buying dinner or getting in another car.

And he should maybe find Emma.

Or Ruby.

He’d rather find Emma.

“I take it back,” Ariel continued. “Maybe you are a little romantic. I mean, it’s still stupid because she’s totally going to say yes, but, you know, this is a nice story to tell your kids when they ask how all of this went down.”  
  
“How all of this went down,” Killian repeated slowly, ignoring whatever several different organs were doing at the word _kids_.

“Yeah, yeah, fairy tales and whatnot.”  
  
“Maybe you should go back to sleep, Red. I think you’re delusional. How did you even find out, by the way? Just from the internet?”  
  
Ariel scoffed. “No, no, of course not. I didn’t even take that thing seriously until Liam said it’s what happened.”  
  
“How?”

“You’re going to get mad.”  
  
“It was Banana wasn’t it?”  
  
“As soon as you guys took off I think,” Ariel said and she was doing her best not to laugh. Killian almost appreciated that. “Hey, she hasn’t told Emma and she’s got to tell someone. You knew that was going to happen.”  
  
“I shouldn’t have told anyone.”  
  
“Ah, well, that’s your fault. You knew what you were getting into when you signed your extension. Welcome to the Rangers or whatever.”  
  
Killian rolled his eyes, glancing up when he heard footsteps at the other end of the hallway. Emma grinned at him and her ring had fallen over the front of her shirt, knocking against the fabric of her dress while she walked.

That did something to several internal organs as well.

“You know,” she said, coming up short of his outstretched legs and kicking at his skate. “I keep finding you in places you’re not supposed to be.”  
  
Killian widened his eyes, but Emma didn’t move – even when he nodded towards the spot on the floor next to him. “If you think I’m sitting on the ground,” she muttered. “You’ve absolutely lost your mind.”  
  
“Ask her now,” Ariel hissed, sounding like she was punching a pillow next to her. “Do it, Cap! Do it!”  
  
“Is that A?” Emma asked knowingly and Killian tried to keep his face impassive, silently hoping the world would do him the one favor of making sure Ariel's voice didn’t carry from a three-bedroom house on Long Island to South Korea.  
  
“She’s very bored," Killian explained and Ariel made a noise of indignation. “She’s got no one to talk to and she doesn’t know what to do.”  
  
Emma lowered her eyebrows, not looking entirely convinced by the explanation that was only kind of a life. “Yuh uh,” she said. “You tell her you were showing off today?”  
  
“I don’t know that I’d go that far, Swan.”  
  
“No? What would you call that pass to Scarlet? And in your first Olympic game?”  
  
“Is that pride, I hear?”  
  
Emma shook her head quickly – far too quickly. “Of course not. I’m just trying to make sure the fans get what they want when their Captain does so well on some kind of international stage.”  
  
“Yeah? And what do you need for the fans?”  
  
Ariel groaned and the pillow she’d been punching sounded as if it had been thrown across the room. “This is gross,” she shouted, making Killian wince slightly as he pushed back up off the floor. “You two are gross. Ask her, Cap! Then I can lord it over Anna.”

“Time to go, Red,” Killian mumbled, phone halfway to his pocket when he heard her yelling again.

“Wait, wait, can you make a fist?”  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
“I’m serious! How’s your hand? Is it ok? Did you get hit at all?”  
  
Killian groaned, but Emma just looked amused, one side of her mouth pulled up as she held her hand out in front of her. He handed her the phone without a word.

“He’s fine,” Emma promised. “No hits. I am looking at his hand now, A, there’s nothing there.” She tugged his left hand towards her, thumb tracing over scars and the slightly raised veins on the back of his palm and Killian bit his tongue so he didn’t do something decidedly stupid.

Perfect.

It had to be perfect.

“Listen, A, we’ve got to go,” Emma continued, taking a step closer to him until she had the phone pressed against her shoulder and her free hand resting on the front of his jersey. “Yup, no hits. Twice.”  
  
“And that assist,” Killian added. He pulled the phone out of Emma’s hand, hanging up on Ariel before she could do any more damage or suggest he propose in a hallway several hours away from where the ring actually was.

Emma laughed softly, head falling against his shoulder and she made a noise when she realized he hadn’t actually changed. “You need to shower.”  
  
“A very pointed opinion, Swan. And I would have, if we didn’t get media scrum’ed as soon as we walked into the locker room and I wasn’t dealing with bets and Red’s inter-continental boredom.”  
  
“There were a lot of words there. Although I’m not sure you can actually use media scrum’ed as a verb.”  
  
“Too late. It’s done. I’m going to use it after every game.”

“It was a good game.”  
  
“I thought you weren’t proud, Swan.”  
  
Emma shrugged and he might need to still shower, but her fingers had found their way back into his hair and he needed to remember how he ended up in this hallway so they could make sure to use it to their advantage over the next two weeks.

“Impressed,” she amended. “Maybe. And it shouldn't even really count since you had the entire Slovakian roster star-struck as soon as you stepped onto the ice.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Please,” she scoffed and the smile on her face had him frozen to the floor. Emma leaned back, eyes scanning across his face and she lowered her eyebrows when she realized he really didn’t understand what was going on. “Wait, you really don’t get it, do you?”  
  
“It’s been a very long day, Swan. And we ate a ton of those potato dumplings.”  
  
“Those were delicious. We should get more of those before we drive back.”  
  
“Well, Locksley’s apparently in charge of dinner and paying for it, so take it up with him. Although that might have been just for Scarlet. I was only half listening.”  
  
“Why just Scarlet?”  
  
“He lost the bet.”  
  
“I thought that was all of pool play.”  
  
Killian blinked – and Emma smile got even wider. “How did you know that?”  
  
“I know everything,” she said quickly, pressing up to brush her lips against his and he had to stop himself from tugging his arm around her waist. He still needed to shower. And take this jersey off. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point here is that you didn’t even realize what you were doing to the entire country of Slovakia.”  
  
“The entire country?”  
  
“Obviously. That kid was following you around like some kind of hockey-playing puppy. It would have been adorable if it weren’t also kind of sad since I’m pretty positive it’s destroyed the reputation of the entire country of Slovakia.”  
  
“You’ve lost me, Swan.”  
  
Emma rolled her eyes, but there was something in the corner of the look, something that might have been in the realm of _adoring_ or maybe _adorable_ and a few steps shy of perfect and, well, forget the shower and the scrum.

He kissed her – lips pressed against hers without much thought as to where they were or who might be looking for them or how she’d react to being held tightly against a game-worn jersey and pads that were quickly descending towards the wrong side of disgusting.

Emma didn’t say anything, just made a noise that had Killian rolling his shoulders and backing them up against the wall so he didn’t actually collapse on his skates. Ariel would kill him if _that’s_ how he ended up hurting himself.

Her hand pushed all the way into his hair, the other finding the bottom of his jersey and holding on like she was trying to ground herself somehow and Killian couldn’t stop moving, lips shifting across hers and over her jaw and down her neck and maybe perfect was just some sort of frame of mind.

He couldn’t leave the ring in a locker room.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Emma mumbled, pulling on jersey again, but she didn’t actually move away and kissing her again seemed like the only option.

Oxygen, however, proved to be somewhat necessary to continue...whatever and Killian’s shoulders were practically heaving when he finally pulled away from her, wincing slightly when his head made contact with the wall.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said softly.

“Sure you are.”  
  
“Finish the story, Swan.”  
  
She huffed slightly, cheeks flushed just a bit and Killian tried not to take _too_ much pride in that, particularly on a night when he’d triple pointed. That wasn’t a verb either.

“That kid,” Emma said. “Tomáš Demitra. He’s obsessed with you.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“You honestly couldn’t tell? He was trying to defend you without actually defending you all game.”  
  
“Three points, Swan.”  
  
“And I’m not taking away from that, or from the assist, because it really was an insane pass, above and beyond the call of duty on all fronts, Cap. What I am telling you, though, is that the kid was completely stunned to see you on the ice. I’m surprised he didn’t ask for your autograph in between periods.”  
  
“That’s insane.”  
  
“No it isn’t,” Emma argued and he knew he wasn’t imagining the pride in her voice. “You’re...well you’re you. This is going to happen a lot.”  
  
“I’m me?”

“Are you being this difficult on purpose? I’m letting you skip out on more scrum. Ruby’s going to kill both of us.”  
  
“There’s a lot of threatened murder on this team.”  
  
“I think it’s just us, actually. That New York attitude or something.”  
  
He’d lost his train of thought – the words _us_ and _New York_ in the same sentence settling into the pit of his stomach and he’d never really appreciated the city of Los Angeles, but Killian might have been a bit grateful it existed, if only because it had sent Emma his direction.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, words falling out of his mouth without his explicit permission.

Emma stuttered slightly, the hand that was still pushed into his hair, gripping just a bit tighter than necessary. “What?”

“I love you,” Killian repeated, making sure to enunciate every single letter. “More than anything. And I’m glad you’re here. Ridiculously glad you’re here. Even if you ate most of the potato dumplings.”  
  
“Hey,” Emma snapped, smacking at the ‘C’ on his shoulder lightly. “I did not! There weren’t really that many left to begin with.”  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
“And I’m glad I’m here too. By the way. Although we really should get more of those things before we leave. It’s the longest ride in the world back.”  
  
Killian nodded seriously, half certain he’d lost his mind or maybe his nerve and Emma kept staring at him like she was concerned he was actually having some sort of complete post-game breakdown in a hallway that still smelled like paint.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“What makes you think anything is the matter?”  
  
“You got all sappy all of the sudden and if you stare at me any harder, you’re actually going to injure me. You can’t do that, you promised no one would get hurt here.”  
  
His laugh was shaky and quick and his tongue darted out across his lips. Emma just tilted her head. “I just...I’m glad you’re, Swan.”  
  
“So you’ve mentioned. And they are kind of paying me. Even if, technically, my job doesn’t include lurking in hallways with you.”  
  
“Is that what we’re doing?”  
  
“You tell me, I found you here.”  
  
“I was just thinking.”  
  
Emma lifted her eyebrows and her gaze turned a bit more curious. Killian tried to take a deep breath, but oxygen was proving difficult to come by, particularly when he’d rather be using his air supply to kiss her again. That would have made it difficult to talk.

Ariel was going to be disappointed he’d hung up on her.

“About?” Emma prompted and her eyes widened when Killian’s hand traced over the chain around her neck.

“Things,” he said. “Stuff.”  
  
“Real specific.”  
  
“Ah, well, it’s kind of a big deal.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
He nodded slowly, trying to swallow back the ball of nerves that had taken up residence in the back of his throat and he was going to do this. He was going to do it now – after two goals and Slovakian teenagers and a questionable amount of potato dumplings.

Now or never or some other cliché Mrs. Vankald would be able to come up with.

“You’re kind of freaking me out, you know,” Emma muttered. “What’s going on here? Is this about whatever Robin was nervous about on the internet?

“No, no, Swan, nothing to freak out about. I promise.” Her eyes got _greener_ and she smiled again, palm flat on his chest, and Killian couldn’t blink if he tried. “I’ve been thinking,” he continued. “For awhile now and I’m glad you’re here and…”  
  
“So you’ve mentioned.”  
  
“Emma, you can’t keep interrupting, love.”  
  
They both froze, respective jaws dropping open slightly when he called her by her actual name and this was why he’d wanted a plan. He was babbling in the hallway, no ring and no idea what to say next except to maybe shout that she was _the best thing that had ever happened to him_ and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, no matter what happened on the ice.

“What,” she whispered, eyes wide and mouth half open and his arm wrapped all the way around her waist.

_Ask her. Tell her. Everything. All at once._

“Guys!”

Killian groaned, shoulders sagging with the weight of his disappointment and it seemed as if perfect would be decided _for_ him.

And perfect wasn’t in the middle of a hallway in a sweaty jersey.

“What are you guys doing?” Ruby asked, the sound of her heels echoing on the tiled floor. Emma was still staring at him, eyes darting across his face and down to his slightly slumped body, the concern and confusion practically rolling off her in waves. It probably timed up with his frustration. Killian glanced towards Ruby, teeth sinking into his lower lip and she absolutely knew too.

Anna had probably told her as well.

“Oh,” she said. “I, uh, well, fuck.”  
  
“It’s fine, Lucas,” Killian lied, pulling Emma against his side and brushing his lips over her hair. “What do you need?”  
  
“The guys are done scrum’ing and said they had no idea where you were or if you’d answered media questions yet, which you kind of have to since you were some kind of point explosion tonight, and then they wanted to eat. Mostly they really wanted to eat.”  
  
“Of course they did.”

“Are we really using scrum’ing as a verb now?” Emma asked. “Because I don’t think that’s right.”  
  
Ruby shrugged and Killian felt some of his frustration ebb. “I guess. Scarlet wants to eat before we drive back. And Phillip has already crashed the locker room, so you guys are missing all of that.”  
  
“Shame,” Killian mumbled under his breath and Ruby stuck her tongue out at him. “A picture of professionalism, Lucas. Fine, we’ll be right there. I’ve been informed I need to shower anyway.”  
  
She nodded, doing her best smile and apologize without actually saying the words, before turning on their heels and leaving them there.

“C’mon Swan,” he said, taking a step away from her and nearly tripping over his feet when she tugged on his wrist.  

“You’re really ok?” Emma asked again.”What were you thinking about?”  
  
God damnit.

Killian took a deep breath, humming in the back of his throat as he took a deep breath and looked straight at her. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s fine, Swan. Come on, if we don’t get back in there, Scarlet’s going to riot over food.”  
  
“Sure,” she laughed softly. “Wouldn’t want that.”  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
They fell asleep in the back seat of the car, hours later, Emma’s head on his shoulder and Killian blinked blearily when they pulled up in front of hotel, certain, eventually, they’d get to perfect.

* * *

“God, I’m freezing,” Ruby muttered, tugging her coat tighter to herself for emphasis and Emma didn’t even try to stop herself from rolling her eyes. 

“You knew it was going to be cold, Rubes,” she said reasonably.

It was cold, though. And snowing. It was cold and snowing and they were all probably going to get frostbite if they stayed outside for too long, wind whipping across their faces, and Emma leaned against the body next to her out of instinct, Killian’s arm inching its way around her shoulder without a word.

“Yeah, well,” Ruby sighed. “I don’t have another body to steal heat from. That seems like cheating.”

Killian made a face, eyes wide and eyebrows lifted and, jeez, that smirk was _stupid_. Emma grumbled under her breath, not sure if she was trying to fight off whatever her stomach was doing in response to the smirk or Ruby’s knowing gaze or her certainty that Killian was absolutely, positively not telling her something.

They’d rolled through pool play as promised and while nothing and been quite as easy as the game against Slovakia, Team USA hadn’t been particularly challenged.

They won every game and Killian scored in _every goddamn game_ and Emma was somewhere in between proud and impressed and nothing had seemed especially difficult when it came to the ice.

At least not yet.

That happened next – a first-game matchup against Lithuania the next night and if Emma never heard the word _psyched_ again for the rest of her life, it would absolutely be too soon.

It was, as Killian pointed out, her own fault.

She should have come up with less abrasive buzzwords. And maybe get some more sleep. She couldn't seem to sleep through the night, mind constantly racing with to-do-lists and making sure Merida wasn’t working every hour of every day and that was a job unto itself because this time difference was absolutely going to kill both of them.

And, well, maybe if Emma was being completely honest with herself, she’d be able to admit that she couldn’t quite get _that_ moment out of the back of her mind.

She could still smell the paint if she closed her eyes, could still feel the weight of his hands on her hips in the middle of the hallway, the way his eyes had narrowed and he’d pressed his lips together tightly, stumbling over words in a way that made her breath come up short.

Something was going to happen.

She’d been certain of it.

Something big and important and tinged with the smell of freshly painted walls.

And neither one of them could seem to go back to it – far too preoccupied with media scrums and scoring a, frankly, ridiculous amount of goals and making sure that whatever this vertigo thing was, it didn’t completely distract them from their hour-by-hour schedules.

That might have just been Emma.

It was fine.

She was _fine_.

She just couldn’t seem to eat anything. And everything smelled awful.

“When are they going to start?” Roland asked, bobbing on his feet a few feet away from where Emma was half leaning against Killian. He hadn’t said anything about that, just let her rest most of her weight against his side and his fingers kept trailing across her shoulder.

“Soon, mate,” Killian answered, before adding under his breath, “It better be, or we’re all going to freeze to death.”  
  
“You’re not helping,” Robin mumbled, grabbing Roland around the waist to lift him up onto the railing in front of them.

Killian scoffed. “Yeah, well, that can’t be part of the rules, either. What if he falls?”  
  
“Ok, he’s not going to fall.”  
  
“Yeah, but you’re old and your bones are brittle and you got hit last game.”  
  
“Do not talk about that,” Emma hissed, rolling her eyes at the memory of the hit and the league reps who were certain the sky would inevitably fall because Robin Locksley had gotten just a bit bruised.

He was fine.

He was barely bruised.

And that was a lie too. His shoulder had been on the wrong side of purple and just a bit orange, which didn’t seem healthy at all, and Emma spent most of post sending Ariel photos to make sure that Robin wasn’t about to just collapse in a heap of bruise-induced death.

God, where was that smell coming from?

Emma shivered slightly and she could feel Killian’s eyes land on her, the concern obvious even before she looked back up at him. “You alright, love?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Emma said quickly, scrunching her nose slightly when the wind shifted again and, _fuck_ , that was disgusting. “You really don’t smell that?”  
  
“What?”

“Whatever that is,” she said, waving a hand through the air as if that would explain it. Killian shook his head. “Rubes,” Emma continued, “you really don’t smell that?”  
  
Ruby lowered her eyebrows slowly and Emma could practically _hear_ thegears working in her head, surprised there wasn’t actual smoke coming out of her ears to really drive the point home. Her eyes darted between Emma and Killian, smile inching across her face like she’d just found out the most important fact in the entire world.

Emma was just cold.

And hungry.

Except maybe for not whatever that smell was.

If they ever figured that out.

“Oh my God,” Ruby muttered under her breath. “Are you serious, Em?”  
  
Emma shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“For real?”  
  
“Lucas,” Will sighed, pushing Henry in front of him so he could get a better look at the end of the ramp, thing, whatever. What was the technical term for a skeleton course? Oh, course. Maybe it was course. Emma couldn’t really think. Or stand up. God, she was tired.

“What?” Ruby asked, voice just a bit colder than whatever temperature it happened to be outside.

Will leveled her with a glare that probably would have given Regina a run for her money and Ruby blinked once. “Enough,” he said sharply. “We’re not doing this right now. And that smell is codfish head.”  
  
Emma’s stomach rolled and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, burrowing her head into what little bit of Killian’s neck wasn’t covered by some sort of Team USA apparel. “Oh my God,” she muttered, trying to breathe without using her nose.  
  
“In through your mouth, love,” Killian said, whispering the words against the hat he’d made her tug over hair before they’d left the hotel that morning.

“You really can’t smell that?”  
  
She felt him shake his head against hers, a contradictory sound she could only barely make out against the fabric of her hat. It was covered in stars and she’d rolled her eyes when Killian muttered something about _star spangled_ as he pulled it down in the middle of the hotel room several hours before.

“Codfish head,” Will repeated and Emma didn’t even have to move to know that Killian was glaring at him.  
  
“Scarlet, if you don’t stop saying those words in that very specific order, I’m absolutely going to push you in front of a skeleton,” Emma mumbled. She still hadn’t pulled her head up.  
  
“I don’t think you’re using that word the right way.”  
  
“Do not test me right now.”  
  
“You can’t even stand up.”  
  
“Shut up Scarlet,” Killian and Robin said at the same time. He did. And she could still smell...codfish heads.

They must have all made quite a sight – glaring respective daggers at each other and trying to stay upright and not frozen, while one teenager and another eight-year-old screamed various cheers and an off-key rendition of the national anthem as skeletons sped by them.

God damn, Scarlet. That absolutely wasn’t the right word.

Athletes?  
  
Olympians?  
  
Skeleton...ers?

“Yeah, I don’t think you have to do that every single time we watch an event, Rol,” Ruby muttered, but there was a fondness in her voice that she couldn’t quite mask. Even when she claimed to be absolutely freezing. “We’ve just got to cheer for the people in red, white and blue.”

“He’s enthusiastic,” Regina reasoned. She ducked underneath Robin’s outstretched arm, keeping one hand on Henry’s shoulder and the other on Roland’s back and Emma wasn’t certain she’d ever seen her look so genuinely happy.

It was an Olympic miracle.

“And not only Americans wear red, white and blue,” Emma added. Ruby made a face, mouthing _codfish head_ over the top of Roland’s hat.  
  
“Swiss,” Killian muttered. “That’s red and white.”  
  
“Great Britain. That’s all three.”  
  
“Oh, that’s good, Swan. Uh….Norway. That’s red and white, too, right?”  
  
“You’re slacking on the blue, Jones.”  
  
She tilted her head up, turning to glance at him and the smirk was on a whole other level. Or maybe that was because she was still kind of dizzy.

Emma didn’t mention that.

She didn’t have to.

Killian blinked twice, brushing his thumb over the curve of her cheek and nodding slowly, like he was waiting for her to explain the symptoms of vertigo and a distinct distaste for South Korean fish.

“And Poland is red and white too,” Emma continued, nodding towards a streak of color zipping by them that, maybe, was a Polish skelenton’er. Olympian. That was just easier.

“Why do you guys know this?” Will asked, leaning forward to try and see the official time at the other end of the track. “And how do they even score this? Just by time?”

“How else would they do it?” Robin argued. “It’s not like they could have judges. You can’t really do tricks on whatever it is they’re laying on.”  
  
“I think it’s just a sled,” Killian muttered, but his eyes didn’t move away from Emma and if she wasn’t so goddamn charmed by an overprotective Olympian, she probably would have been frustrated by the look on his face and how tightly he tugged on her hat. “So your ears don’t get cold,” he added softly, leaning down to kiss the spot on her cheek where his thumb had just been.

“I’m fine,” Emma protested and he just nodded again, sticking his lower lip out slightly. She resisted the urge to kiss the look off his face.

There were kids around.

And Scarlet would have made some obnoxious comment.

“This is so cool though,” Henry shouted when another blur of colors and sleet and _human being_ sped by them.  
  
Regina made a contradictory noise and Emma didn’t think she imagined the way her hand tightened on Henry’s shoulder. “Yeah, super cool,” she mumbled, hissing in air when the actual _human being_ in front of them careened into a _wall of ice_.

“Oh shit,” Will said, not even bothering to apology for the destroyed innocence of the children in front of them.

Henry bobbed up and down, eyes wide and questions practically flying out of his mouth – some deep-rooted desire to learn how to fling his body down a track of ice, suddenly taking root. Roland started shouting the anthem again, praising the _rocket’s red glare_ while someone sporting, what looked like, Russian colors, tried their best to get back on their feet.

“God, is he dead?” Ruby asked, nudging Emma’s arm with her elbow. “Oh, shit, sorry Rol, look at his leg. Is there blood?”  
  
Emma’s stomach heaved again and Killian clicked his tongue in frustration. Ruby almost looked repentant. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Can you smell blood too, Em? You think you’re a vampire, then?”  
  
“Oh my God, Lucas, enough,” Killian hissed, arm tightening around Emma again and there were medical personnel on the ice or _whatever_ now. It was definitely Russian colors.

“That’s red, white and blue too,” Emma murmured, forehead pressed against the front of Killian’s Team USA-branded jacket.

“What?”  
  
“His uniform. Russia’s red, white and blue. I win.”  
  
“Were we competing, Swan?”

“I’m just bringing the most impressive facts and color scheme knowledge, Cap.”  
  
She could feel his chest shake slightly when he laughed, both of his arms wrapped tightly around her waist and Emma didn’t remember moving that much, only happy that she had because she wasn’t really certain she could stay standing upright otherwise.

And he might have kissed her – if Will’s groan was anything to go by. She couldn’t really feel it through the stupid, fucking hat.

“This is awesome,” Henry continued, seemingly unperturbed by anything that was happening that was not skeleton or potentially injured Olympians.

“Did that guy get up yet?” Emma asked and Henry, finally, glanced her direction. At least she thought he did. She hadn’t actually lifted her head off Killian’s chest.

He probably wouldn’t let her if she tried.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Henry promised. “He’s totally fine. Right? He looks fine. Just kind of….limping.”  
  
“Jeez.”  
  
“I mean, he was going pretty fast.”  
  
“Time?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“A time, kid, did they clock him?”  
  
Henry laughed again an Killian only grumbled slightly when Emma tried to move, shifting her weight back on her heels. He didn’t move his arms though and she had to twist herself to turn towards Henry.

“Nah,” he said. “He didn’t actually cross the line. He probably would have won though. The break had him two tenths ahead of us.”  
  
“Us? Were we skeleton’ing?”

“Maybe that’s why you’re so nauseous,” Ruby said knowingly and Emma didn’t even bother to glare at her. Killian was doing a good enough job.

“America,” Henry sighed, as if that was the obvious answer. Roland was still singing the national anthem, Robin humming along with him under his breath. “I’m talking about America. In general. Wasn’t that the deal? The buzzwords for the week were _psyched_ and we were so patriotic it was going to hurt.”  
  
“I don’t think I said that part about it hurting,” Emma said.

Henry shrugged. “Paraphrasing.”

“Ah, well, of course. And stop mentioning wanting to do this, I think you’re going to give Regina a heart attack.”  
  
Regina made a noise that might have been an agreement, but Emma was still twisted around awkwardly and that couldn’t be doing her stomach any favors. The wind blew again –, God it _still_ smelled like fish – and she pressed her teeth tightly into her lip, trying to will herself to _relax_ , if only so Killian would stop staring at her like she was going to collapse into some kind of Olympic heap.

“Hook,” Roland yelled, turning quickly and nearly falling off the edge of the railing he was perched on. Every adult in a three-foot radius lunged at the same time, hands outstretched and breath audibly caught in their throat.

Roland hardly noticed. “Hook,” he repeated, shouting the world like Killian simply hadn’t heard him.

“What, mate?” Killian asked. He still had one hand out – despite the arm Robin had snaked around his son – and his left hand was gripping the back of Emma’s jacket tightly.

“You think you could go that fast?”  
  
Killian let out a shaky laugh, eyes widening slightly and that, clearly, had not been the question he’d been expecting. “Uh, no, I don’t think so.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because he’s not bionic,” Will muttered and Ruby smacked him in the stomach.

“Ass,” Killian mumbled.

“Language, Cap. There are children present.”  
  
“Yeah, you.”  
  
“Emma, how come you’re not getting this on camera. This stuff is gold. We could be entertaining the masses now.”  
  
Emma twisted her eyebrows, Henry in fits next to her – even when his head darted up as soon as the latest American zipped by them. “Jeez,” she mumbled, blinking quickly and maybe this was a bad idea.

Maybe she should have stayed in the hotel and slept.

God, she couldn’t sleep to save her life.

“Where is Rook, by the way?” Ruby asked, glancing around like Phillip would, suddenly, appear in a puff of smoke, sporting Team Lithuania gear and a smile on his face.

“He’s not a rookie anymore, Lucas,” Killian said. “And they’re filming tomorrow at the arena.”  
  
Emma stuttered slightly, leaning back to glance at him and he just smiled in response. Of course he did. “How did you know that?”  
  
“Swan, you leave hand-written schedules everywhere you go. You brought post-it notes with you to South Korea.”  
  
“Oh my God, Em, no you didn’t,” Ruby laughed.

“I wanted to make sure we got everything done,” Emma shouted indignantly. Sleep was number four on that day’s list. Maybe she’d get to that eventually.

Killian probably knew that too.

“And it will, Swan,” he said. It sounded bigger than it was. Ruby nodded, gaze still a bit too _knowing_ for Emma to feel like she wasn’t missing out on some major plot point in her own life.

“Plus, Phillip had media stuff with Lithuania today,” Emma added. “So we’re going to do some kind of friends and enemies thing before you guys play tomorrow.”  
  
“Before we win,” Will corrected. “No jinx.”  
  
“Obviously.”  
  
Roland was singing again, voice picking up just a bit on _dawn's early light_ and Emma felt the smile settle on her face quickly and easily and….then the wind blew again.

“Oh fuck,” she groaned, scrunching her nose so she couldn’t actually breathe. And, once again, every adult in a three foot radius moved quickly, hands trying to keep her upright and worried looks on their faces and Killian ducked his head to get into her eyeline, gaze all blue and nervous when his hand fell on her cheek.

“Let’s take a walk, Swan,” he said and there wasn’t any room for argument, already half tugging her away from the crowd and the skeletons and Emma couldn’t find it in herself to argue.

She didn't really want to. His hand was warm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just in. Interfering team continues to be interfering. Killian might honestly murder all of them before the end of the Games. Emma knows something is going on. Everyone in the world knows something is going on. Ruby knows everything. 
> 
> @laurenorder made this better. Come flail on Tumblr if you're down: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

Killian’s fingers laced through Emma’s with ease, slowing down so she didn’t trip over her own feet as he weaved his way through the crowd and towards a bit of inexplicable open space.

It was a medals stand.

He’d led them to the goddamn medals stand and there was, somehow, no security and, God, the Olympics were some kind of organizational joke.

She should make them post-it note schedules.

“Sit,” Killian said, nodding towards the bronze medal podium and Emma stared at him incredulously.

“This is for Olympians,” she hissed. He shrugged. “Who have won medals and presumably not destroyed themselves on some ice slope. Not you. You’re not a skeleton.”  
  
“I mean, I have a skeleton, Swan, that’s not up for debate.”  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
“Sit,” Killian repeated, sinking onto the edge himself and patting the spot next to him.

“You can’t be serious.”  
  
“Emma.”  
  
“That’s cheating,” she accused. He shrugged. Emma groaned, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Fine, fine,” she grumbled, sinking down next to him and Killian wrapped his arm around her shoulders immediately. “I thought you wanted to walk.”  
  
“We walked so we could sit down.”  
  
“That’s a very quick plan you came up with there, Cap.”  
  
“Yeah, well, maybe I was trying to get you alone for most of the afternoon.”

“Man, you must suck at flirting,” Emma said. “I had no idea. I thought we were going to get family’d all afternoon.”  
  
Killian’s lips quirked up and she’d mostly done it for the reaction, appreciating the feel of him against her and he was, somehow, still warm – even through the ridiculous Team USA coat they’d told them they all had to wear.

At all times.

“As much as I enjoy getting family’d,” Killian continued. “I’d rather be able to spend time with you, Swan. Especially before things start to get crazy.”  
  
“Have they not started to get crazy yet?”  
  
“Ah, well, if your lists are anything to go by, then, no. Today is, apparently, our last day of freedom.”  
  
Emma chuckled lightly, heading falling on Killian’s shoulder. It didn’t smell nearly as bad over here – and that might have had something to do with her nose pressed against his team-branded jacket and her arm wrapped around his waist and she could dimly feel his fingers carding through the end of her hair.

“Maybe for you,” Emma argued. “Not all of us have just had an easy road of it to actual hockey games that matter.”  
  
“Those first few games mattered. We had to win the pool.”  
  
“Yeah and you guys had to really try hard to do that. You signed autographs after the last game two days ago.”  
  
“You promised we wouldn’t talk about that again. That was embarrassing enough in the moment.”  
  
“It means you’re old, you know.”  
  
Killian groaned, rolling his shoulder and jostling her slightly and he hadn’t meant to do it – she knew that. They were joking and smiling and he wanted to spend time with _her_ , but he’d moved and that was enough to make everything shift.

The smell was gone, but the movement sent a fresh wave of nausea through her entire being and Emma sat up quickly, spine going rod straight as she tried to take deep, measured breaths.

“Swan,” Killian said, practically snapping his jaw on the sound of her name. Emma closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly and holding up one hand – like that would somehow make him not worry.

Idiot.

Both of them.

They both should have spent the day sleeping.

“When’s the last time you actually slept, love?” he asked, tucking his thumb underneath her chin and Emma bit her lip tightly.

God, he looked nervous.

And that feeling came back in force, the certainty that he wasn’t telling her _something_ and everyone else knew _something_ and she probably would have lingered on it, if it didn’t feel as if her stomach was actually trying to work its way out of her throat.

“I honestly don’t know,” Emma answered honestly. “Maybe after the Slovenia game. Was that the one on Thursday?”  
  
“I’ve lost all track of time here, Swan. I only know where to go when I look at your notes.”  
  
“See,” she said, sticking a finger into his chest. “Those are important!”  
  
Killian didn’t answer at first, just wrapped his fingers around hers and tugged her hand up towards his mouth, kissing along the line of her knuckles like they were anywhere except where they were – the middle of an Olympic stadium with snow falling on their knees, sitting where they absolutely were not supposed to be.

Emma pulled her hand away from her side, reaching up to brush the snow out of Killian’s hair and he leaned against her, the worry still obvious when he looked at her. “I’m fine,” she promised and he barely even let her get the words out before he was shaking his head.

“There are doctors here, Swan,” he said. “I’m sure Ruby knows people from the team. They could make sure everything is fine.”  
  
“Everything is fine.”  
  
“The wind blows the wrong way and your whole face goes green.”  
  
“Ugh, don’t say that color.”  
  
“See, this is what I’m talking about.”  
  
Emma groaned, pushing herself back up and Killian didn’t blink. “So a few seconds ago when you were being all romantic about spending time with me, you just wanted to argue somewhere a bit more private.”  
  
“We’re not arguing, Swan.”  
  
She lifted her hand, shaking it through the air like that proved _that_ and Killian rolled his eyes. “We’re not,” he continued. “I’m worried about you.”  
  
He’d whispered the last few words, eyes ducking back down to her knees and Emma felt her shoulders slump in defeat. “That’s cheating too,” she mumbled.

“I am.”  
  
“You’ve got other things to worry about. It’s not like winning a gold medal is easy.”  
  
“Screw the gold medal,” Killian said quickly and Emma’s heart stuttered against her ribcage. “I don’t care about any of that. Not when it’s lined up against you.”  
  
“Was that a faceoff joke?”  
  
“Swan.”

“I know, I know,” she said. “But it’s just been a crazy couple of weeks. The mass amount of post-it notes is a testament to that. That’s all it is.”  
  
“You’re trying to tell me you’re just tired?”  
  
“What else could it be?”

Killian shrugged and Emma knew he didn’t actually have an answer – just a ridiculous amount of worry that left his hand tight on her hip and his eyebrows drawn so low she was certain the crease between them wouldn’t ever disappear entirely.

“I don’t know,” he sighed, tugging on the back of his hair.

“I’m fine.”  
  
“Ok,” Killian nodded and Emma got the distinct impression it was the exact opposite. He sighed again, the force of it making his shoulders heave and Emma leaned forward quickly, determined to, at least, make some headway in the romance department.

He was still tense when she kissed him, lips set in a thin, straight line, but it didn’t take long for him to sag against her just a bit, hand finding its way to the back of her neck and her waist and neither one of them heard the security guard shouting at them.

Again.

“We’re making a habit of this, Cap,” Emma whispered against his mouth and she could feel him smile.

“Maybe they’ll send us back to our room and we can ignore demands to watch skeleton and go to historic places on our days off.”  
  
“The historic place isn’t until later this week. And it’s a mountain! That’s pretty cool.”  
  
“That is pretty cool,” he admitted.  
  
“See.” The security guard shouted again, footsteps heavy on the snow when he walked towards them and Killian held his hand out for Emma as soon as he stood up. “I think you’re trying to get me to swoon, Jones.”  
  
He did something absurd with his eyebrows, quick movements that Emma couldn’t even begin to replicate and his eyes practically lit up.

_Jeez_.

“Is it working?”

“Probably if someone wasn’t yelling at us in another language.”  
  
“Guess we’ll just have to go find somewhere else to sit, huh?”  
  
Emma nodded, letting him pull her back up and against this side “You think they’ll be mad if we leave? Rol probably wanted you to race a skeleton or something.”  
  
“I think that’s against the rules of our petition.”  
  
“You called it a petition,” Emma gasped, tugging on the front of his jacket and they still, apparently, hadn’t moved far away from the medal stand. “Alright,” she said, rolling her head towards the frustrated guard. “We’re going, we’re going.”

It took less than five full seconds for the guard to snap his jaw shut, eyes going wide and he looked like he’d frozen in place. “What’s happening, right now?” Emma asked. And it took less than _another_  five full seconds for her to realize.

The guard reached behind him quickly, tugging something out of his back pocket and Killian’s hand tightened out of instinct.

Overprotective idiot.

It was a notebook.

Killian looked confused, head tilted to the side and Emma groaned when he didn’t take the sheet of paper immediately. “Oh my God, here,” she said, grabbing the notebook and forcing it into his hands “Sign this.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Killian,” she laughed. “He wants your autograph.”  
  
“What, why?”  
  
“You’re the captain of an Olympic team. He works for the Olympics. I’m assuming he knows who you are.”  
  
He blinked once, the notebook still held loosely in his hand and Emma made a mental note to add this story to the Vankald group chat as soon as the time difference evened out. Anna would probably laugh about it for the next week.

“But I don’t have a pen,” Killian stuttered and Emma wasn’t sure her heart was still beating. God. She’d have to start a whole new post-it note list of all the ways he kept cheating at...whatever.

Making her swoon.

“It’s fine,” she said, reaching into the bag slung over her shoulder. “I’m super prepared. Go ahead and be impressed.”  
  
Killian grinned at her, kissing her cheek quickly and squeezing her waist. “Always, Swan.”  
  
It wasn’t long – a few moments and a few seconds and she swore she could hear the pen scratching on the notebook paper. That was probably important.

Later on she’d think that was important.

Emma could hear the pen and the sound of his name and she could still half see the smile on his face when the realization hit her like lightning.

Or maybe a tidal wave.

No, no, an avalanche.

It was, after all, the _winter_ Olympics.

And it kind of felt like falling off a skeleton sled. Toboggan? The technical term might have been toboggan. She’d look that up when she remembered how to breathe properly.

Emma’s mind raced back, combing through dates and post-its and schedules and, god, why would she write any of it down? It wasn’t something you wrote. It was something you just _knew_ , some deep instinctual something that would change _everything._

She wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to pull in the warmth or maybe a bit of confidence and she couldn’t remember.

God, she needed a calendar.

Weeks. It must have been weeks.

Fuck.

Fucking hell.

Fucking hell to the power of fucking infinity.

“Swan?” Killian asked, turning back towards her and slowly tugging her arms apart so he could drop the pen back in her bag. “What’s the matter?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Swan.”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Are we doing this again? Because I’m almost willing to argue.”  
  
“Almost?”  
  
Killian laughed, hands on her shoulders and that worried look back on his face. “I was making some headway in the swooning department, I’d rather not back track.”

“You’re not,” she said quickly and it wasn’t really enough to convince herself, let alone Killian. “Honestly.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”  
  
“You’re just famous.”  
  
“You’re deflecting, love.”  
  
Emma shook her head, a piece of hair flying across her face. There was a metaphor there. Or a cliché. Or some kind of flashing neon sign about responsibility and keeping track of her life and _dates_ , goddamnit. “I’m not, really. You think we can go back to the hotel, though? I’m freezing and I think they’re done skeleton’ing. Maybe we can order some food.”  
  
Killian’s eyebrows quirked up at that, surprised at Emma’s sudden desire to eat when there was still a faint scent of codfish in the air, but he didn’t argue either, just muttered, _yeah, of course, love_ and if he didn’t stop calling her _that_ , she was probably going to start crying in the middle of an Olympic arena.

They walked slowly, Killian’s hand back in hers and if he noticed how tightly Emma was holding onto it, he didn’t say anything.

She’d have to thank him for that eventually.

But that would require her to talk. And she couldn't really do that either.

She just kept counting backwards – coming to the same exact conclusion a dozen times before they were even a few steps away from a mountain covered in ice. And she didn’t need the post-it note schedules to show her what she was already fairly positive she knew.

Emma was late.

* * *

 

She tried not to think about it. She tried not to worry. She tried to remember how to breathe. None of it really worked.

And Killian knew.

He kept shooting glances her direction the entire walk back to the hotel and the rest of the night and as soon as she all but collapsed onto the bed that night. He did it the entire car ride to the arena the next day and Emma could feel his hand graze across her back when she climbed out of the car.

He looked worried.

God, fucking damnit.

“Are you sure you’re ok, Swan?” Killian asked, arm back around her shoulders as they walked towards the team entrance and he kept doing that too. He kept trying to touch her – fingers brushing across the back of her neck or her wrist or holding onto her hand in the backseat of league-provided cars – like he was worried she’d suddenly disappear or run away or possibly collapse into some sort of overwhelming future-type meltdown.

Maybe he hadn’t considered that last one.

Maybe that was just Emma.

Maybe she was absolutely losing her mind.

And she couldn’t tell him half a thought and half a concern in the middle of goddamn _fucking_ South Korea.

Not when the real games started that night.

Not yet.

Soon. Just not yet.

“I’m fine,” Emma answered, trying to keep her voice even and confident and she didn’t need the eyebrow quirk to realize she’d failed on both fronts. “I really almost slept last night.”  
  
“It’s the almost that’s the problem.”  
  
“Almost is better than nothing.”  
  
“Were we at nothing before?”  
  
“You’re not,” she shrugged and Killian rolled his eyes. “That’s what matters here, anyway. Can’t have you falling asleep on skates. Or during pre-game warmups and soccer games that I’ve got to film.”  
  
“I don’t care about the filming.”  
  
“It’s important.”  
  
“I’m not questioning that, Swan. And I know you’ve got twenty things to do with Scarlet and Phillip before we get on the ice, although Phillip’s availability at all times is a little confusing, but I am worried about you and I want a straight answer.”

They’d stopped walking at some point – trailing behind the Team USA contingent and Emma could barely hear Ruby’s heels on the tiled floor anymore.

Killian stared at her, eyes wide and so blue it wasn’t even _fair_ , keeping his hands on her shoulders so she couldn’t even try and sidestep him. That wasn’t fair either. God, she was exhausted. And hungry. And not hungry.

All at the same time.

Maybe she should go to medical.

“Yeah, well,” Emma muttered. “It’s not like you’re telling me exactly what’s going on either.”  
  
Killian’s eyes, somehow, got even wider and just a bit angrier, the frustration rolling through him quickly and obviously and he dropped both his hands like he’d been shocked. “What?” he asked softly.

“You’re not telling me something,” Emma continued. “I know it. You know I know it. So I don’t understand why you’re throwing accusations around when there’s all this….whatever.”  
  
“Whatever?”  
  
“What aren’t you telling me?”  
  
“Nothing. And what aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing. And stop just repeating me.”

“I’m not.”  
  
“Killian!”  
  
He sighed softly, closing his eyes and Emma didn’t think she imagined the way his shoulders sagged, leaning forward until his hair almost hit her forehead. “You need a haircut,” Emma mumbled, fingers finding their way into the strands before she could stop herself or remember that she was frustrated and overworked and just a bit terrified of something she hadn’t actually confirmed yet.

“When have I had time, Swan?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” she admitted, brushing through his hair and across the back of his neck as soon as his hand found its way back to her waist. “I’m sorry you’re worried. You shouldn’t be though. I’m fine.”  
  
“So you’ve mentioned.”  
  
“Come on, don’t be mad.”  
  
“I’m not,” Killian argued, glancing up and his hand tightened a bit. “Really. And I’m really not trying to hide anything from you. That’s not what we do, right?”  
  
Emma’s stomach did something – flipping or flopping and she wasn’t sure if that was from the earnest look on Killian’s face or whatever she hadn’t been willing to actually put a word to yet. She wasn’t sure, anyway.

It was just a feeling. An instinct. And she’d counted backwards more time than she could remember.

She was absolutely positive.

“Right,” Emma promised. “I've got to go film. Scarlet’s going to showcase pre-game soccer skills or something and Phillip wants to teach us the history of Lithuania and it’s going to be weird when you guys beat them and…”  
  
She didn’t finish, words cut off when Killian’s mouth found hers and couldn’t remember what she was going to say next.  
  
It probably didn’t matter.

She could feel his hands on her back, palms flat on the jacket she hadn’t actually taken off yet and they were both wearing so much Team USA gear, it was almost hysterical. Or it would have been if she could laugh.

She couldn’t really breathe.

Killian moved, body pressed completely against her front and they couldn’t really back up anymore than they had – the wall doing its best to get in the way as much as possible – but he didn’t seem deterred, just kept his hands wrapped around her until Emma was positive she could feel every single inch of him.

Even through a questionable amount of Team USA gear.

“Jeez,” she mumbled, the words coming out against his mouth and she’d probably never take her hands out of his hair. That would make playing a hockey game pretty difficult.

Killian laughed softly, lips still moving and hands still firm on her back, half supporting her weight. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”  
  
“It probably should be. We need to stop making out across Olympic venues. It’s not very professional.”  
  
“Add that to the list of things I don’t care about.”  
  
“Is there anything you particularly care about this week?”  
  
“You,” Killian said, without missing a beat and Emma’s heart flipped in tandem with her stomach and maybe several other organs. “Always you, Swan.”  
  
“That was romantic,” she muttered.

“Don’t act like it was so surprising.”  
  
“No, no, I’m not,” Emma said, smile finding its way onto her face and maybe her _soul_ and it sounded as absurd in her head as it would have if she’d said the words out loud. Goddamnit. She needed to tell him.

He had to go play a hockey game in three hours.

“I love you, you know,” she said and that wasn’t really what she was planning on, but it was true and maybe the crux of this entire issue. If it was even an issue. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he’d be excited.

He’d absolutely be excited.

Emma blinked quickly, biting tightly on the inside of her lip so she wouldn’t cry in the middle of an Olympic venue, just a few moments after making out with her boyfriend in the middle of an Olympic venue.

“I know,” Killian promised, thumb brushing across her cheek. “I love you too, Swan.”  
  
She nodded, teeth still doing damage to the inside of her lip and Killian didn’t look convinced that she was as _fine_ as she promised. He sighed softly, kissing her quickly and it wasn’t nearly enough and absolutely too much, all at the same time.  

“You’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking, love,” he whispered, a hint of desperation in his voice that made Emma’s breath catch.

She could hear Ruby’s heels coming back down the hallway – someone finally picking up on their absence and inability to maintain schedules.

“I’d like another goal tonight, please,” Emma said, ignoring everything that wasn’t the game and the _job_ and they could control this.

“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah and no hits.”  
  
“I haven’t hit anyone once yet, Swan.”  
  
“Ah, well, you’re frustrated.” Killian opened his mouth to argue, but Emma shook her head quickly and he didn’t actually say anything. “And I know you. You wanted to hit something from the get go. But you can’t, _we_ can’t, mess this up. You guys are going to win here and the game’s important too.”  
  
It wasn’t the best speech in the entire world – that was Killian’s forte and his job and Emma didn’t _talk_ , she didn’t do emotions or explanations or anything except actions that were, more often than not, running away.

She didn’t want to do that anymore.

She was tired of running and tired of anything that was not whatever future she’d settled into with Killian. And maybe, _maybe_ , she was excited too.

She just couldn’t fight the game – not quite yet.

“Ok?” she asked and Killian nodded. “We win first and then...everything else.”  
  
“Ok, Swan,” Killian agreed, but there was something just on the edge of his voice and Emma knew they hadn’t really come to any kind of middle ground. “We win first.”  
  
He kissed her again, lips brushing over hers and it wasn’t what it should have been – it was quick and frustrated and he couldn’t hit anything when he got onto the ice. “We’ve got media before the game,” Killian continued, telling her a schedule Emma had memorized days ago. “But I’ll see you later?”  
  
“I’ll be here.”  
  
Killian nodded again, shoulders a bit stiffer than they should have been after making out and romantic sentiment and his eyes didn’t quite meet hers when he walked away, mumbling something under his breath towards Ruby.

Emma backed up, leaning against the wall and sliding down it with all the finesse of someone who’d just lost any control over their life. She heard the heels before she saw them, bright red and a a few inches away from her and Emma pulled her eyes up to find Ruby glaring at her with her arms crossed.

“You tell him yet?” Ruby asked, venom in her voice and accusations lingering in the space in front of her.

“What?”  
  
“Did you tell Killian yet?”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ruby scoffed and her arms seemed to get tighter. Emma groaned, tugging her legs up to rest her chin on her knees and she could feel the tears falling down her cheeks. “How?”

Ruby crouched down, a sympathetic smile on her face as  her hand fell on Emma’s cheek. “I’m a genius,” she said.

Emma let out a watery laugh, heart still beating almost painfully in her chest and Ruby’s smile got a bit wider. “And you’re like some kind of walking billboard for symptoms. I’m surprised Killian hasn’t just figured it out yet.”  
  
“He’s got a lot on his mind.”  
  
“And you’re a giant wimp and haven’t told him yet.”  
  
“There’s not anything to tell.”  
  
“Emma,” Ruby snapped and she winced out of instinct. “Billboard. Walking. Sentient.”  
  
“No, no, I know. I just, um, well I haven’t done anything officially yet. Like no test or whatever. Just kind of counted backwards and then tried to figure out how I didn’t notice for...five'ish weeks.”  
  
Ruby nearly fell over. “Five weeks,” she hissed, eyes wide and mouth hanging open and Emma squeezed her eyes closed tightly. “Emma, you’ve got to tell him now.”  
  
“I can’t,” Emma sighed, tugging on the ring around her neck. “They’ve got a game in three hours and I’ve got to film and he’s some kind of face of the entire league now. There was a petition, Rubes!”  
  
Her voice cracked on the last word, eyes just a bit wild and Ruby hummed in the back of her throat, hand still on Emma’s cheek.

“I know there was,” Ruby said softly, gaze darting down quickly to Emma’s twisted-up hands like she was looking for something very specific. “And I know that this was probably not on your post-it note schedules, but this is good, Em.”  
  
“You think?”  
  
Ruby nodded. “If you don’t think Killian Jones is going to be the best father in the entire world, then you’re as crazy as you look.”  
  
“Supportive as always.”  
  
“Plus you’ve seen El and Liam’s kids. You guys are ten times hotter than them. You’ll make some kind of ridiculously adorable baby.”  
  
Emma’s breath rushed out of her, a huff of air that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her grip on her ring was reaching vice-like levels. “What?” Ruby asked.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard that. Or even thought it. I keep thinking of it as a thing.”  
  
“A thing?”  
  
“It’s made it easier not to freak out that way.”  
  
A _baby_. There might be a baby – no, Emma corrected herself quickly, there was absolutely a baby and she didn’t even really need the test to know for sure. She swallowed, trying to remember how to breathe and sit upright and a _baby_.

God.

A baby with blue eyes and dark hair and a penchant for playing hockey.

“It’s not going to change anything,” Ruby continued softly, ducking her head until she’d forced herself back into Emma’s eyeline and she pried her fingers away from the ring around her neck. “He’s going to freak.”  
  
“That word,” Emma sighed.  
  
“In a good way.”  
  
Emma nodded again, teeth digging into her lip until she’d actually bitten it. God, she was a mess. And she wanted to tell him.

She wanted to see the look on his face and the excitement in his smile and then, maybe, she wanted to know what Killian wasn’t telling her.

“Do you know?” Emma asked suddenly, the question rolling off her tongue with a determination that surprised her, considering she was still sitting on the floor.

Ruby shrugged. “Know what? I mean probably.”

“Killian’s got some kind of plan, doesn’t he? There’s something going on with the internet or something and I know El and Anna know, but they won’t tell me either. I’m thinking about betting Scarlet for information.”

“What would you even bet?”  
  
“I don’t know, I haven’t gotten that far. It’s been kind of a hectic twenty-four hours.”

“You’ve officially lost your mind.”  
  
“And that wasn’t an answer. I think you know.”  
  
Ruby rolled her eyes, but she shifted uncomfortably, rocking back slightly on her heels as she tried to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress. “I know nothing.”  
  
“I think you’re a giant liar.”  
  
“And I think you’re almost six weeks pregnant and haven’t told your boyfriend yet and you’re using hockey as some sort of emotional crutch.”  
  
“Shout it a little louder, why don’t you?” Emma snapped, pushing herself off the ground and ignoring whatever rush of emotion that shot through her when Ruby kept using words she hadn’t even allowed herself to consider in the last day.

“Tell. Him.”  
  
She was going to. She _was_ – really. She had half a plan and maybe some half scribbled notes in between filming with Scarlet and Phillip and trying to make sure that Scarlet and Phillip didn’t swear on camera – that was only Scarlet, Phillip kept muttering apologies under his breath whenever they had to start over – and Emma was going to tell Killian after media and before the game against Lithuania.

She was.

Honestly.

Except the game against Lithuania hadn’t been the easy victory it was supposed to be and they’d almost fucked up the entire thing before it had even really gotten off the ground.

Or maybe the ice.

Whatever. It didn’t matter. That new coach still wouldn’t put the Rangers on the same line together and neither Killian nor Robin could seem to figure out which way to hold their stick when they weren't playing a few feet away from each other.

So she’d, as Ruby so aptly put it, absolutely, positively, chickened out.

And they had a video emergency to deal with. 

Ruby kept muttering things under her breath, while Emma paced back and forth in the media work room, her phone pressed up against her ear and Merida’s anxious voice on the other end.

“I don’t know why it’s not going up, boss,” Merida said for the fourteenth time and Emma resisted the urge to groan. Or maybe just start crying again.

“I know,” Emma sighed. “I know, Mer. But that doesn’t mean we don’t need to figure out why the video won’t play on the site.”  
  
“Or why it keeps getting stuck at that awkward part fifteen seconds in,” Ruby added. Emma glared at her.

“That too. Ok, did it get sent out yet? And, follow up to that, did you check to make sure that it ran all the way through before you sent it out.”  
  
Merida made a noise. “Yes and yes, boss. Of course. It plays fine on the embed in the e-mail, but the site is just…”

“Shitty?”

Ruby threw her head back, shoulders shaking and eyes closed and Emma sank into the closet chair she could find, legs stretched out in front of her – every single one of her muscles felt tight. They didn’t have time for this.

She didn’t have time for this.

She was supposed to be sitting in league-provided seats and this video should have been up on the Rangers site hours ago.

_God_.

“Well, yeah,” Merida admitted. “But we’re not in charge of the makeup of the site. And I don’t really have a degree in coding or video editing.”  
  
Emma sighed again. She was going to miss warm ups. She was going to miss Roland singing the national anthem.

He’d almost started getting good at it.

“Ok,” Emma said sharply as she pushed herself back up in the chair. “What time is it there? Fourteen hours that’s what...fuck...5:30 in the morning? Is that right? God, we should be paying you more, Mer. When’s the last time you went home?”  
  
“That’s not important. And we’ve got a job to do.”  
  
“Answer the question, Merida.”  
  
“Um, well, I came in like two hours ago to make sure the gallery of the guys from post against the last pool game was up and maybe take down that one of Killian where it looks like he’s about to actually break the camera in half. But, you know, it’s the internet. It’s out there.”  
  
“Of course it is”  
  
“The headlines have been good over the last few days.  _The Post_ ran a spread about how well we’re doing despite not playing together and how that bodes well for some kind of Cup defense.”

“How can people be worried about a Cup defense, right now?”  
  
“Well, it’s not people,” Merida said reasonably and Emma almost felt bad. She’d probably feel worse if she wasn’t going to miss the start of the first period. “It’s only _The Post_ and they get paid to write all that stuff. It’s got the board distracted enough from…”  
  
“How’s it going with the video, Mer,” Ruby interrupted suddenly, pulling the phone out of Emma’s hand and clicking the speaker phone off. “Nope,” she continued, answering a question Emma couldn’t hear. “Ok, here.”  
  
Ruby held the phone back out to Emma. She didn’t move an inch. “What?” she asked, a picture of innocence that didn’t match up with how tightly she was still holding the phone. “Come on, figure this out Em or we’re going to miss the game.”  
  
“Secrets,” Emma muttered and Ruby just shrugged.

It took the entire first two periods to figure it out, somewhere in the realm of almost eight o’clock in the morning, New York time, before Emma could watch the entire video of Scarlet and Phillip discussing the little-known facts of Lithuania without the stupid thing glitching out a few seconds in. She’d called David to double check.

“Em, aren’t you watching this game?” he asked and, well, she’d been nice to Merida. She didn’t even try to stop herself from groaning in David’s ear.

“If I was, do you think I’d be calling you in the middle of it to make sure my video plays?”  
  
“I know, I know, I was just asking.”  
  
“Yeah, well, don’t.”  
  
He clicked his tongue knowingly and Emma’s vision blurred just a bit. She needed to stop crying. “I’m fine,” she said, but her voice shook and David made another noise, something that sounded a bit like understanding.

“Sure you are. You want to tell me the truth now?”  
  
“Just tired.”  
  
“Emma.”  
  
“Detective.”  
  
“You want me to count to ten or something? Give you some kind of audible ultimatum to talk to me and waste more of your data.”  
  
“Strange as it may seem, there is wifi here. That’s how we’re doing this whole FaceTime thing so you can stare at me meaningfully during this conversation.”  
  
“I’m staring at you like a completely normal person. How come you’re by yourself?”

Emma shrugged, twisting her lips slightly and she’d told Ruby to go watch the game midway through the first, more promises of _fine_ and it wasn’t really Ruby’s job to babysit her or a shitty New York Rangers website.

“People should get to watch the game,” she explained, like that was actually any kind of explanation. It wasn’t.

And maybe she just desperately needed two minutes to herself – some kind of self-imposed penalty for _chickening out_ and working until she couldn’t see straight.

And maybe _maybe_ she’d called David anyway.

Because she didn’t really need him to actually watch the video.

“Ten, nine, eight,” David started and Emma laughed out of instinct, rubbing her thumb underneath her eye before he could notice she was crying. It didn’t work. “What’s going on with you? Really?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Emma sighed and David’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, I do know, kind of, maybe. I have a pretty good idea.”  
  
“And is that pretty good idea getting its due reception?”  
  
“What does that even mean?”  
  
David chuckled softly, leaning against the counter of the kitchen he was standing in. “It means that you don’t have to tell me whatever your _pretty good idea_ is, but I’d like to know how you’re feeling about it. One way or the other.”

“For real?”  
  
“Always, Em. Even if you wreck all of our data.”  
  
She was absolutely crying now, tears falling down her cheeks quicker than she could catch them, but it finally felt like she could breathe – videos and nerves forgotten as soon as Emma tried to figure out how she was feeling.

Happy.

She was happy.

“I think,” she said slowly, almost as if she was testing the words out for the first time ever. “I think I’m happy.”

“You think?”  
  
“I am?”  
  
“Em, you’ve got to stop answering my questions with questions,” David said, but she could still make out the hint of a smile on his face. “Happy? Yes or no?”  
  
She bit her lip tightly. “Yeah,” Emma nodded. “Really happy.”  
  
“Good. Because I can’t afford a flight to South Korea right now in some misplaced attempt to defend your honor.”  
  
“I wouldn’t try that,” she warned. “They’re all pretty mad about this no hitting thing. I think a locker sustained a good chunk of damage after the Austrian game.”  
  
“The third period of that game wasn’t bad. If that ‘Hawks idiot would just realize Killian and Robin don’t know how to play without each other on the ice at the same time, then this would be fine.”  
  
“They did ok during pool,” Emma argued and she knew it was just that, a pointless argument that didn’t really hold much weight against the best countries in the world. This wasn’t pool play anymore and nothing was easy.

From any angle.

“Yeah and this is different than pool,” David pointed out. “There are other NHL’ers out there and they’re just as good as our guys are. Tell this ‘Hawks idiot to get up to speed.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s part of my job description.”  
  
“Tell Killian then.”  
  
“Not his either.”  
  
David groaned, glancing away from the phone when the sounds of the third period echoed from the TV screen. “At least we aren’t losing here,” he shrugged and Emma hadn’t even really noticed the score. Another tie game and another twenty minutes to play and maybe she didn’t really want to go back to her league-provided seats.

“That’s true,” she muttered softly, David’s quiet hum in response some sort of reassurance Emma wasn’t sure she’d been looking for until just that moment. “Do you think,” she continued, stretching out the syllables so she wouldn’t actually have to ask.

“Always, Em,” he said.

They watched the third period together, Emma slouching back down into the seat and David moved to the couch, slinging his legs over the back of the furniture in a way that Mary Margaret wouldn't have allowed if she wasn’t at work.

They didn’t really talk much – at least not about anything except the game and how boring hockey could be to watch in a tie game without even the possibility of hits – and Emma noticed David’s eyes flicker towards her more than once, looking for something she couldn’t pinpoint. She didn’t ask.

One emotional hurdle at a time.

“Overtime is going to give me an ulcer,” David sighed, groaning when he sat back up and something cracked when his feet landed on the coffee table.

“Jeez, Detective, that was aggressive,” Emma laughed, but she couldn’t really disagree and she was already resisting the urge to start pacing. “What did you break?”  
  
He held up two separate pieces of what appeared to be a tray for remotes and Emma made a face. “Oh, Reese’s is going to kill you. That’s what you get for putting your feet on the table.”  
  
“You breathe a word of this, Emma and I will actually fly to South Korea to fight with you and not your boyfriend.”  
  
She laughed again, resting her head on the back of the chair. “That’s fair. Alright, bets on who scores the game-winner?”  
  
“That team is rubbing off on you.”

“How much money did you make on us winning the Cup?”

David stuck his tongue out, but they made the bet anyway, only arguing slightly that they couldn’t _both_ pick Killian. It didn’t really matter. No one won in overtime.

“God damn,” Emma mumbled, kicking at the floor. “How many ulcers do you think we can get between the two of us during a shootout?”

“A dozen, at least,” David grumbled.

Her phone was close to dying – it had been vibrating non-stop for most of overtime, probably the group chat and Ruby wanting to know where she was and Emma didn’t answer any of them. She couldn't take her eyes away from the TV.

“It’s going to be good,” David continued as soon as Emma’s breathing started getting just a bit louder than normal and Will was circling center ice with the puck on his stick. “That Lithuania goalie is garbage.”  
  
“He plays for the Red Wings.”  
  
“Yeah, well, their playoff streak got snapped last season.”  
  
Emma scoffed, shaking her head slowly as she stood up, dimly aware of David’s feet sounding on the hardwood floor on the other side of the world. And maybe Emma was going to punch that Lithuanian goalie in the face.

Three saves for him and three saves for them and it was still _fucking_ tied.

“Deep breaths, Em,” David mumbled when she let out a particularly loud groan, eyes going towards the ceiling when Killian made his way back onto the ice.

“Can they do that?” she asked. “Use him again in a shootout?”  
  
“Different rules in the Olympics.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
He didn’t score the first time. Or the second. He scored the third time. And so did Phillip, glancing nervously over his shoulder when he noticed the puck go in the back of the net. Six rounds of a shootout and they were still tied.

Emma took a deep breath, lips pressed together tightly when Killian skated out...again. “Jeez,” she muttered, twisting her hands together until her knuckles cracked. She could barely make out what they were saying on TV, something about _what will he do this time_ and Doc Emerick’s voice had never been more abrasive.

“Happy thoughts,” David said softly and Emma’s laugh was shaky at best. “He’s going to have to do something different this time.”  
  
Emma nodded slowly, not sure what she was agreeing to and her heart felt like it was in her throat.

Killian moved slowly, skating in between the faceoff circles and for half a second Emma thought he’d lost his edge – he hadn’t. And the New York tabs would probably talk about that stutter step for the rest of the goddamn Olympics.

He nearly stopped, pausing just long enough to juke his stick from forehand to backhand and it was more than enough to get the Lithuanian goalie out of position.  
  
He never had a chance.

Emma screamed and David yelled, both of their hands flying into the air as they started jumping in two separate time zones. They won. They _won_. Killian made sure they won.

“Holy shit,” David shouted, ignoring whatever Emma was doing with her hands. She couldn’t stop moving. It was fine. Everything was _fine_ and they could still keep playing. “Did you see that move?”

“I have eyes, David,” Emma said. She was crying again.

It was an incredible move.

God, she hoped their kid was good at hockey. _Their kid_. Emma knew her eyes went wide, could hear her own breath catch and in her throat and they were going to have a kid.

“Holy shit,” she muttered under her breath, repeating David’s words without even really thinking about it as she sank back into the chair.

“Em,” David said and if she wasn’t too busy _freaking out_ , she probably would have appreciated the obvious concern in his voice. No, this wasn’t anything to freak out about. It was fine. It was good. It was the best fucking thing in the history of the universe.

Maybe.

She hoped so.

She had to film post-game SnapChats.

“I’ve got to go,” Emma said quickly, brushing over David’s concern and _whatever_ he was still doing with his face.

“Wait, wait, wait, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”  
  
“Emma Swan.”  
  
“Nope,” she argued, popping her lips for good measure and standing up suddenly. “I’ve really got to go. Thanks for ignoring whatever I know you had to do this morning so I didn’t completely meltdown during this game.”  
  
“You were close to melting down?”  
  
“Nope,” she repeated and she needed to expand her vocabulary. “You’re the absolute best, thanks, go to work, don’t tell Reese’s about this or I’ll fly home and kill you.”  
  
She didn’t wait for a response, moving her eyebrows quickly and swiping her thumb across the screen before stuffing her phone in her pocket and sprinting towards the door.

There wasn’t a plan.

She didn’t have a plan.

She just had _something_ she couldn’t quite name and it might have been determination or _joy_ or slight terror at _not_ telling Killian the truth.  
  
Not that she was lying.

Kind of.

Emma jogged down the hall, twisting through Olympic volunteers and security guards who could hardly get the question out of their mouths before she shoved her Team USA badge into their faces and pushed her way into the locker room.

“Where were you all game?” Ruby asked as soon as Emma skidded to a stop, throwing her hand up on a reporter’s shoulder to make sure she didn’t land on her face. That probably wasn’t healthy. “And why do you look like you’re having some kind of meltdown? God, Em, take your hand off the reporter.”  
  
“I was in the media room. I watched the game with David.”  
  
“Were you on wifi that whole time?”  
  
Emma rolled her eyes – hand still on the shoulder in front of her. “Obviously. David would have killed me otherwise.”  
  
“You’re not actually David’s kid.”  
  
“Ok, if you’re trying to make some kind of point, that was a little heavy-handed,” Emma sighed. “And I’m not melting down. Not completely. God, why do we all have the same vocabulary?”  
  
“You’re having some kind of episode,” Ruby laughed, leaning forward to, finally, pull Emma’s hand away from the stranger she was resting her weight on.

“Swan?”

He’d taken his jersey off already, hair matted to his forehead and he looked exhausted, but he smiled when he pushed his way through the crowd of reporters between them, eyes bright and the smile on his face might have been the reason for the meltdown.

It wasn’t a meltdown.

Probably not.  

Oh, God, there were so many people in the locker room. There were so many _journalists_ in the locker room.

“Oh fuck,” Emma sighed and Ruby chuckled under her breath, pulling her against her side.

“Deep breaths,” she whispered. “The move was insane. Tell him the move was insane. Don’t tell him you want to jump him in the locker room. Or anything else. You’re fine. Everything is fine.”  
  
Emma nodded slowly, twisting her ring in between her fingers and it was the longest walk from a locker in the history of the world.

“That move was insane,” Emma said as soon as Killian stopped in front of her, smile still plastered on his face. Ruby nodded encouragingly next to her, eyes narrowed just a bit and Emma tried to stay upright.

“Insane,” Killian repeated incredulously. She shrugged. He looked good in just pads. He looked _ridiculously_ good in just pads.

There were recorders everywhere.

“Yeah,” she said. “Totally froze up all of Lithuania.”  
  
“I’m not sure it was the entire country, love.”  
  
“Take my compliment for what it is.”

His smile got wider and his eyes got bluer and Emma absolutely wanted to jump him in the middle of the goddamn locker room. “Of course, Swan.”  
  
Ruby nudged her forward, mumbling something under her breath that distinctly sounded like _well, at least kiss him, Em, he just saved America_ and Emma couldn’t argue with that.

They’d win first.

Then everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all good? Everyone good? We're getting all family'd up! I'm so psyched for everything that's set to come next here and there's lots left to happen. As always I can't thank you guys for every click, comment, kudos and general flail. 
> 
> @laurenorder is a word-reading genius. Come flail on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	6. Chapter 6

An off day.

They had an off day.

And another schedule. God. If Killian never saw another schedule or heard another schedule or was told _where he had to be_ , for the rest of his life, it would be far too soon.

He rolled over when the alarm went off, the sound seemingly blasting through the hotel room and there wasn’t anyone on the other side of the bed.

He blinked twice, stretching his arm out to make sure – as if he’d simply find Emma still there and the distinct lack of hair in his face should have been more than enough of a sign.

“Swan,” Killian called, pushing up and knocking a pillow off the bed as he moved.

Nothing.

There were, at least, half a dozen post-it notes pressed onto the nightstand next to her side of the bed, a mess of scribbled messages and question marks and he couldn’t quite make out any of it, even when he narrowed his eyes slightly.

Killian pulled one of them off, tilting his head at the writing that didn’t quite look like English and he realized, rather suddenly, that she hadn’t slept again.

God damn.

“Swan,” he yelled again and there was noise coming a few feet away, a shower turning on and something that sounded a bit like Emma humming. She couldn’t hear him.

And these notes definitely weren’t in English.

They weren’t even complete words.

They had to go ride a train up a mountain that afternoon and Emma was writing nonsense on bright blue post-it notes that Killian was half positive the Rangers had provided.

He could propose on a mountain.

Would?  
  
God, he wanted to. And then he wanted Emma to tell him whatever she wasn’t and what he was half positive Ruby absolutely knew. And then he was going to figure out how Ruby Lucas just knew everything by default.

It probably had something do with relating to the media.

Killian was still holding a post-it note when his phone rang, shaking him back to reality and the hotel room and the one word he could make out –  _boards_.

There were a million questions, suddenly, in the back of his mind, but Emma was still in the shower and still, apparently, not sleeping and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually seen her eat something that wasn’t potato dumplings.

They weren’t ever really together except for car rides back from the arena and maybe he should make sure they didn’t fall asleep then because it was obviously fucking with another schedule.

His phone was still ringing.

“What,” Killian snapped, not even bothering to look at the caller ID.

“KJ,” Elsa said evenly and no one in this entire family knew how to sleep. “I did not call you to get yelled at without you even saying hello.”  
  
He groaned, sinking back against the pillows behind him. “Hi, El.”   
  
“That was almost better.”   
  
“That’s about as good as it’s going to get.”   
  
“Oh,” she muttered, clicking her tongue when he didn’t immediately follow up with an apology. “So you totally know then, huh?”   
  
“What?”   
  
Elsa made another noise at that and Killian swore he could practically _hear_ her blinking, confusion painted in her silence. “What do you mean what?” she asked. “What are we talking about?”   
  
“El, you called me.”   
  
“Tell me something that you know.”   
  
“Just, like, in general?”   
  
“Oh my God, you totally don’t know. Shit.”   
  
“El!”   
  
“No, no, no, don’t El me,” she mumbled and he could barely make out her feet hitting the carpet in Colorado. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”   
  
“You are not making sense right now, you know that,” Killian said, running a hand through his hair. He should propose on a mountain.

That was romantic.

Probably.

If they had half a chance to even get two seconds by themselves – the whole goddamn New York Rangers Olympics contingent set to come with them and they had tickets to...something later tonight. It was probably on one of the post-it note schedules.

“El, where even are you right now?” Killian asked. “And how are you not waking up your children?”  
  
“It’s not my children you need to worry about.”   
  
“What?”   
  
Elsa let out a low whistle that sounded just a bit like a sigh as well and she must have been in her office. She was pacing in her office in Colorado at four in the afternoon. The day before. Killian’s head hurt.

“What are you guys doing today? It’s an off day, right?” Elsa asked suddenly, voice bright and just a bit too forced to be genuine.

“Yeah,” Killian said slowly, narrowing his eyes at the open space in front of him. He could still hear Emma moving in the bathroom, the sounds of the shower working their way through the closed door and maybe he should have ignored his phone completely.

That was a bit of a trend.

“So,” Elsa continued. “What’s on the docket, then? You guys should go somewhere cool. See a medal ceremony or something. What’s the plan look like?”  
  
“El.”   
  
“I’m serious. You don’t have many free days while you’re there and, I mean, I know the Olympic site isn’t a ton of help, but they’ve got some tourist-type ideas on there and it’d at least be good for Henry and Rol to get to see something outside of the hotel and the rink and…”   
  
“Elsa,” Killian interrupted and he could hear her jaw snap shut.

“Yeah.”  
  
“What is going on right now?”   
  
“Nothing.”   
  
“Why is everyone I know such a terrible liar?”   
  
The couch creaked and she’d, at least, stopped pacing, but Elsa didn’t answer his question immediately and Killian groaned loudly, rolling his head towards the ceiling. The shower turned off.

“What are you talking about?” Elsa asked, giving up entirely on any attempt to be bright or positive. She sounded angry.

Killian made a face – well aware that no one could actually see it – and waved the hand that wasn’t holding his phone through the air. “Well, you’re not telling me something,” he said. “So there’s that.”

“And?”  
  
“El, what is wrong with you?”   
  
“Answer the question, KJ.”   
  
His face was probably going to freeze like that. It couldn’t be very warm on top of a mountain. They should have gotten another Team USA sweatshirt. And he didn’t really want to hear Lucas complain about how she was freezing all afternoon.

Maybe they could lie.

Maybe they could come up with something, some desperate reason to stay in the hotel room and turn their phones off and use their off day for what it was supposed to be.

Killian couldn’t even let himself imagine it in his head.

God damn schedules.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, El,” Killian sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. It hurt.

“The truth. Did you do it yet?”  
  
“You would know if I had, El.”   
  
“So, no, then.”   
  
“Elsa, I can’t answer the question you are trying to get me to answer when she’s ten feet away from me.”   
  
“I can hear the shower, though.”   
  
“Elsa!”   
  
She groaned, but it sounded a bit like defeat as well and Killian desperately needed to hit something. Or maybe propose to Emma. Probably the second one. That one wouldn’t get him fined by the league.

He was going to lose his mind in the middle of the Olympics.

“That’s three _Elsa_ ’s in one conversation,” she laughed softly and he pulled his hand out of his hair. “That must be like some kind of record.”   
  
“At least.”   
  
“So no wedding yet?”   
  
“Well, we weren’t going to do it in South Korea,” Killian mumbled and Elsa laughed again. “But, yeah, not yet.”

“That’s stupid.”  
  
“There’s been some stuff, El.”   
  
“Yeah, so I can see. And you guys need to find something for A to do while she’s at home because the only reason I know any of this is because of her.”   
  
This conversation was going in circles. It needed a schedule. And that just seemed like some kind of slap in the face from the world.

“Straight answers, I want straight answers from you right now,” Killian said sharply. Elsa didn’t seem impressed. “As some kind of conversational aside, did you call me from your office?”  
  
She scoffed. “Obviously.”   
  
“So, shouldn’t you be, like, saving the world or something?”   
  
“Shouldn’t you have already proposed to Emma?”   
  
Ah, well, point to her. Several points. All of the goddamn points.

“Yeah, probably,” Killian admitted, glancing behind him when the bathroom door opened and he could practically feel the weight of the ring box he kept moving sitting in his palm. It was stuffed in the pocket of his Team USA jacket.

“When?” Elsa pushed and Killian tried not to roll his eyes too obviously, all too aware of Emma a few feet behind him.

He twisted around to find her standing there, a small, nervous smile on her face like she was half certain of what Elsa was demanding and his heart felt like it was trying to beat its way through his chest.

That was more graphic than he wanted it to be.

She was wearing a Stanley Cup champions t-shirt. It had his number on the back.

Perfect.

It needed to be perfect.

On a mountain. With a few moments to themselves and he’d ask and she’d say yes and then they’d spend a few more moments kissing.

He hoped she said yes.

Killian lifted his arm, nodding towards the space next to him and Emma stared at him incredulously, eyebrows moving up her forehead when he didn’t actually say words. Elsa was still talking.

“Sit, Swan,” Killian said finally and Emma moved her hands in front of her, as if pointing out that she’d only just recently gotten out of the shower. “It doesn’t matter.”  
  
She didn’t move at first, but her shoulders sagged just a bit and she was biting her lip. She was nervous. Killian sat up straighter, hand pulling back the sheets next to him and smiling at her when she crawled up next to him.

“Hey,” Emma mumbled, pressing her head into the crook of his shoulder and slinging her legs over his.

Her hair was still wet, the ends of it hitting up against his skin and she hadn’t actually put on much more than the t-shirt, but Killian couldn’t bring himself to even consider that when she tugged herself against his side and wrapped her arm around his waist like she was holding on for dear life.

“Hey, love,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head and he could feel her lips tick up.

“Today, KJ,” Elsa said. He’d forgotten she was still on the phone. “Talk to your girlfriend. Seriously.”  
  
“That’s foreboding, El,” Killian muttered, shifting slightly when Emma stiffened underneath him. “Swan?” She shook her head. Or, at least, tried to. It was still kind of pressed into the side of his neck.

Elsa made a noise – something that wasn’t quite a sigh, but didn’t sound particularly happy either. He was never going to get straight answers. He didn’t care. He just tightened his arm around Emma. “Well,” Elsa continued. “You guys should have made sure you had an entire list of things for Ariel to do before you flew to the other side of the world.”  
  
“She’s a grown woman, I think she can figure out how to occupy her time.”   
  
“Yeah, you’d think that wouldn’t you?”   
  
“What did she do exactly?”   
  
“Is Emma near you?”   
  
“Yeah,” Killian answered slowly, stomach twisting slightly at whatever Elsa’s voice had just done. “We’ve been over this, El.”   
  
“I don’t even think it’s real,” Elsa said distractedly, the words jumbled together like she was trying to convince herself to believe them.

His patience was wearing thin. “What isn’t?”

“A’s just bored.”  
  
“You’re not answering my questions, El,” Killian groaned and Emma moved her fingers into his hair, tracing out patterns on the back of his head that almost helped whatever relieve weight seemed to be currently taking up most of the space in his stomach.

Elsa was absolutely ignoring him. “I mean that couldn't be right. You guys aren’t idiots.”  
  
“Elsa!”   
  
“Oh jeez, sorry,” she muttered. “Listen. KJ. You need to do this. You should have done it before you left, but you need to do this now. And don’t go on the internet.”   
  
“Well, it’ll wreck our data so….”   
  
“That’s not how that works. Bye, KJ.”

She didn’t say anything else before he heard the click of the phone and Killian sighed softly when he tossed the stupid thing back towards the other end of the bed. Emma laughed against him, smile still pressing against the side of his neck and maybe the boulder of _whatever_ in his stomach was more like a pebble.

“Everything ok?” she asked.

“El is pacing in her office.”  
  
“What time is it there? Like four, right?”   
  
“You’re getting good at this, Swan.”   
  
“Crazy as it may seem, I can sometimes do basic math,” Emma grumbled, pushing herself back up until her eyes were level with his and she absolutely hadn’t slept. God, what an ass – they’d gotten back from the arena and he’d all but collapsed on the mattress.

He was staring at her. Killian knew it. Emma absolutely knew it.

She looked exhausted – eyes just a bit hooded and the skin just above her cheeks had a slightly purple tinge to it – but she kept looking at _him_ and she was wearing a goddamn Cup championship t-shirt and Killian couldn’t remember what a world without loving Emma Swan more than anything else felt like.

He didn’t want to.

He was going to fix that.

“What’s the matter with you?” Emma asked, reaching her hand up tentatively to brush the tips of her fingers along his jaw. “You’re doing that staring thing again.”  
  
“Again?”   
  
“You keep looking at me like I’m going to snap in half. What’s going on? Why was El calling in the middle of the afternoon yesterday?”   
  
“To be perfectly honest, I have no idea about that last one.”   
  
Emma clicked her tongue impatiently. “There were more questions there. You need some kind of media rehash.”   
  
“Please, Swan, my ability to answer questions is better than ever. We did that whole thing with the league yesterday about America and patriotism and I answered every question whatever NBC anchor Ruby pushed in front of me asked.”   
  
“You seem awfully disgruntled.”   
  
“Maybe I am,” Killian shrugged. “And maybe I’ve got half a plan.”   
  
“Color me intrigued. Also answer my questions.”   
  
“That’s somewhere in the realm of demanding, love.”   
  
“I woke up before you did today,” she said, like that was proving some sort of point. It might have been. “Has that ever happened before?”   
  
“I don’t know if it counts if you don’t ever go to sleep.”   
  
Emma blinked once and then again and three more times, her mouth opening slightly as her shoulders sagged and she knocked her knuckles against her shoulders. “How?” she asked. That was definitely a demand.

“You’re going to need to be slightly more specific, Swan.”  
  
She groaned, rolling her eyes and her head and he might be an ass, but it was probably the most goddamn adorable thing he’d ever seen. “You were asleep, all night,” she yelled. “I saw you! I could hear you!”   
  
“You could hear me sleeping?”   
  
“Answer the question, Captain,” Emma hissed, snapping her jaw on the title. “How did you know I didn’t sleep?”   
  
“Aside from the fact that you left a trail of post-it note proof behind? You’d be a terrible murderer, Swan, just leaving evidence like that.”   
  
“I feel like that’s actually a compliment.” Killian shrugged and she hadn’t moved her hand away from his shoulder. “And I did fall asleep for a little while. Somewhere around like two or three. ‘Ish. I don’t know, time doesn’t really exist for me anymore.”   
  
“That seems like a problem.”   
  
Emma hummed – neither a confirmation nor a disagreement. “It’s ok. ‘Ish. Again. Whatever, the week’s almost over and you guys are going to win and we’ve got to go climb a mountain today. Oh, God, do we actually have to climb it? Because that sounds awful.”   
  
“And, again, that seems like a problem.”   
  
“It’s not like there’s anything to do about it. We’ve got tickets to ski jumping later too. I’m supposed to send a video to Mer and Ruby and I are going to Instagram the whole thing. There’s a schedule.”   
  
And that decided that. They weren’t going to go.

They were going to be _off_ on the off day and, maybe, they’d get out of bed. Maybe.

“We’re not doing that,” Killian said and Emma scoffed, lips twisted in argument. “I’m serious, Swan. That’s what I was talking about before. We’re not going.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”   
  
“The half a plan is now a full plan,” he continued, kissing the crease between her eyebrows when she stared at him like _he’d_ been the one who hadn’t slept in several days. “We’re not going to climb a mountain. You know what we should do?”   
  
Emma made a noise in the back of her throat, waving her hands through the air. Killian grabbed them, wrapping his fingers around hers and he couldn’t seem to stop kissing her, lips brushing over her knuckles and the back of her palm.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emma admitted. “So, no, I don’t know what we should do.”  
  
“Leave our phones here.”   
  
“What?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, nodding as he spoke. Emma was still staring at him like he’d gone crazy. “Leave the phones. Or bring the phone, but we’re not answering anything. I don’t care if the entire United States hockey team is...I don’t know, what’s something bad, but not like absolutely horrible?”  
  
“You’re not making any sense, you know that right?”   
  
“I do not want to climb a mountain today,” Killian said, fingers tightening just a bit around Emma’s. “And I know you don’t. So let’s not do that. Let’s do anything else except that. Let’s actually see...something.”   
  
“Something? Like on our own?”   
  
Killian nodded and the smile seemed to inch along her mouth, eyes tracing across his face and he could practically see it all click. “You want to play hookie,” she said. “Again.”

“Again?”  
  
“You blew off team dinner.”   
  
“Ah, but that was a Rangers thing. This is a me and you thing.”   
  
Emma’s smile got wider and this was going to work. Maybe _this_ would be perfect. “We probably shouldn’t wear merch,” she said. “Everyone will know who you are otherwise.”   
  
“See, you’ve already fine-tuned this hookie thing, Swan.”   
  
“I’m not going to ski jumping either later on tonight, it’s going to be freezing.”   
  
Killian chuckled slightly, leaning forward to, finally, kiss her lips and he could still feel her smile when he did. “Deal,” he muttered.

In the end, neither one of them brought their phones, some kind of unspoken agreement in the hotel room that they were _in this together_ and if they were going to play hookie on some sort of quasi-family outing, then they were both going to get in trouble.

They were absolutely going to get in trouble.

And Killian couldn’t bring himself to care.

“This is terrifying,” Emma said several hours later, hand still wrapped up in Killian’s and a smile seemingly etched onto her face. “No wonder we could get tickets in the middle of the afternoon.”  
  
She winced, grimacing slightly when a snowboarder actually fell on the course, another snowboarder tripping over that first one and, well, it was kind of terrifying.

“Why would anyone do this?” Emma added, but she didn’t take her eyes away from the course as two more blurs of colors and boards sped by the stands and the crowd cheered. “Oh, apparently that was good.”  
  
“I would imagine that any time you’re able to stay upright seems good,” Killian muttered.

“Do you not just know the rules to this?”  
  
“Was that a compliment?”   
  
Emma shrugged, glancing up at him with something that felt a bit like the opposite of a compliment. “I don’t know,” she said slowly, pressing up on her toes to rest her arm on his shoulder. “I just figured after all those promises of knowing everything you’d just know the rules to...what is this?

“I think the technical term is snowboard cross,” Killian laughed.

“See, those words just shouldn’t go together,” Emma argued and someone fell again, the crowd gasping like some kind of collective, emotional unit. “Oh my God,” she groaned. “This is worse than you getting hit.”

“That one did almost sound like a compliment.”

“It’s been ok so far. Everyone following the rules.”  
  
“No one wants to get fined,” Killian explained. “That was part of it too. The league won’t risk player safety. At least not when it isn’t also getting some of the advertising revenue.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be the pessimist?”  
  
“Eh,” he sighed. “We’ll go 50-50. Split the whole thing down the middle, wearing the brunt of pessimism and whatever trouble we’re going to get into for blowing off the mountain together.”   
  
“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have been able to get these dumpling things,” Emma said, stabbing a forkful from the container her hand.

“They have a name, Swan.”  
  
“I almost don’t care. You think we can get these at home? I’m going to want these when we get home.”

Emma’s eyes widened slightly when she stopped talking, gaze darting back towards the course and the snowboarders who couldn’t stay upright. Killian waited for her to say something else, to ask about the name or another snowboarding rule or even discuss whatever kind of reception they’d get when they made their way back to the hotel, but none of it ever came.

And then another snowboarder fell.

“Jeez,” Emma mumbled, ducking her head into the front of his jacket and some of the tension seemed to fall off Killian’s shoulders. “This is the worst sport in the entire world. How do they all not just have broken bones?”  
  
“I think that’s a prerequisite actually,” Killian said and Emma’s shoulders shook with her laughter. “Can’t make the Olympic team until you show a doctor’s note that you’ve broken something already.”   
  
“You’ve painted a horrible picture of snowboarding here. Oh, man, look, I think someone won. Is that us?”   
  
“Were we snowboarding?”   
  
“No, the entire country of America. Well, not the entire country, just that guy. Whatever, you know what I meant.”   
  
“I did,” Killian promised, pulling her back against his side and wrapping his arm tightly around her shoulders. “And I think you’re right, Swan. Although maybe we should take it up with the entire country of America that the snowboarding jackets look a lot better than whatever we’ve been told to wear.”   
  
“You sound awfully self-conscious, Jones.”   
  
“Obviously not.”   
  
“No,” she said, eyes darting back to him and he met her smile with one of his own. “You could hardly keep your balance when you were in the locker room the other day, I don't think there’s anything for me to be self-conscious about. Plus, I’m already bursting with confidence in my snowboarding knowledge, so that outweighs anything else.”   
  
She rolled her eyes, but she’d managed to somehow twist herself back in front of him, arms draped over his shoulders and fingers toying with the bottom of his hair. It sent a chill down his spine – that had nothing to do with how absolutely freezing it was outside.

“You made up that broken bone clause,” she challenged. “When we get our phones back, I’m going to look it up.”  
  
“That seems like a challenge, Swan.”   
  
“Not really since I know you’re absolutely wrong.”   
  
“Rude,” Killian mumbled. “You ever broken anything, love?”   
  
“What? Are you asking about the status of my bones while we’re watching snowboarders try to kill themselves?”   
  
“Sure. It’s not like we really know what’s going on, anyway.”

“Ha,” she yelled triumphantly, punching one hand in the air. “I knew you were lying! You totally don’t know anything about this sport.”  
  
“Neither do you.”   
  
“But I’m not the athlete in this relationship.”   
  
He’d get used to that _someday_ , the promise in her smile and how easily she said the word and how much he wanted her to say it for the rest of their lives  – maybe. Probably not. His breath still caught and his hand tightened just a bit around her waist and the ring sitting in his jacket pocket was practically dragging him down.

_Ask her. Right now._

“That’s true,” Killian reasoned. “You’re not answering my question though. Just trying to distract me with compliments.”  
  
“Telling you your job hardly seems like a compliment.”   
  
Killian hummed in response, ignoring whatever was happening on the track behind them. “I’ll take what I can get, Swan.”   
  
“You know what you can get?”

“What?” he asked warily.

“Hot chocolate.”  
  
He barked out a laugh, tugging her against his chest and kissing her and there wasn’t much finesse involved, just _happiness_ in some kind of pure, unadulterated way he was positive he’d never be able to have.

“Is this a date now?” Killian asked. “Getting hot chocolate seems to land us squarely in the date category.”

“Was it not before?”  
  
“Ah, but now there can be more romance. Less snowboarding. Maybe a good amount of chocolate.”   
  
“Those certainly do seem to meet the qualifications of a date,” Emma smiled, lacing her fingers through his and her hand brushed dangerously close to his jacket pocket. “Alright, come on, Jones. If we don’t find something hot to drink I’m going to freeze to the spot.”   
  
They found something – eventually. It wasn’t hot chocolate and it had taken nearly an hour to find, but Emma hadn’t pulled her hand out of his and Killian had absolutely no idea what time it was.

That was a nice change of pace.

Emma blew on the cup in her hand, steam rising off the top of whatever it was they’d actually ordered. “This smells horrible,” she muttered, eyes darting up towards him and it didn’t seem fair that she’d learned how to smik at _him_ at some point.

“To be fair, Swan, that seems to be a bit of a trend for you at this point,” Killian said and he didn’t think he imagined the way the ends of her lips ticked down.

“It does smell kind of sugary. And it’s hot. There’s that, at least.”  
  
“At least.”

They’d worked their way into some kind of market – jam packed with people and athletes and a surplus of country merchandise. It was loud and hectic, but they’d managed to commander seats in the corner, a few feet of space between them and the closest human being, and no one had asked for an autograph yet.

That seemed like a victory.

Emma waved her hand over the drink, mumbling under her breath about temperature before taking a cautious sip.

“What’s the verdict, then?” he asked.

“It tastes like...tangerines? That’s not what she called it though, right? Citron? I don’t know, kind of tastes like medicine.”  
  
“Ah, well that lady did say it was supposed to be good for you. Maybe it’ll help you fall asleep later.” Emma’s face shifted again, jaw ticking slightly before she took a _gulp_ of tea. “God, Swan, you’re going to burn your tongue.”   
  
“You’re concerned about my tongue,” she challenged and he widened his eyes in response. “I think we just fell out of the romance territory entirely. Several broken bones sustained from the fall.”   
  
“Are we back to broken bones, then?”   
  
“What do you think that says about our conversational tendencies?”   
  
Killian rolled his shoulders, tugging the collar of his jacket up higher against a particularly aggressive gust of wind. “It makes it symmetrical,” he said, leaning forward to drag his thumb across Emma’s wrist.

“Romantic,” she mumbled.

“See, back on track.”  
  
“I broke my wrist in Florida,” Emma said. “It might have actually been the only stereotypical thing about my entire childhood. There were monkey bars involved.”   
  
“Involved,” Killian repeated. “Or played some kind of major role?”   
  
Emma scrunched her nose, eyes darting down towards the tea that would, apparently, help her sleep through the night. “As in pushed off,” she mumbled. “There was a race and teams and I’d gotten to that school...maybe three weeks before?” She shrugged. “I didn’t really know anyone yet. It was a seriously misplaced attempt to make friends.”   
  
Killian felt his jaw drop slightly and Emma was still staring at tea, a half-disappointed smile tugging on the corner of her mouth. “When I got back to the house later on that night, they told me to wait a day or two to see how bad it hurt. It hurt like hell,” she added, laughing under her breath.

“We went two days later. I tried to pick something up and I couldn’t actually grip it. I couldn’t actually move my arm,” Emma continued. “They brought me to urgent care and the doctor couldn’t believe I’d been able to sleep with it like that. The cast was blue.”  
  
“Blue?” Killian asked. He hadn’t moved his hand, thumb tracing out circles across her skin where he pushed up the sleeve of her coat.

Emma nodded. “Blue seat blue.”  
  
“Seems like kind of a sign.”   
  
“Sap,” she mumbled and Killian chuckled.

“I make no arguments to the contrary. Although I can’t say that was a very stereotypical story, Swan. You should have gone to the doctor as soon as you fell.”  
  
“There wasn’t really anyone around to make sure that I did.”   
  
“Doesn’t make it any less right,” Killian argued.

“You don’t have to save my nine-year-old honor,” she smiled. “Look my wrist is totally fine. Almost completely bendable.”  
  
He scoffed, pulling Emma’s hand down after the flexibility demonstration. “Even so,” he muttered. “When Rol got hurt we went, like, two seconds after. Although that might have been to avoid Gina, honestly.”   
  
“When Rol got hurt?” Emma asked, jerking her head back in confusion.

Killian nodded, mind racing back to a four-year-old Roland crashing into the boards – as quickly as a four-year-old could – and it had absolutely been Will’s fault, pushing him too hard and Roland had no concept of how to stop.

“Broken arm,” Killian said. “Almost four years ago now. During the all-star break. We were at the practice facility, just trying to stay on the ice and we brought him out and he hit the boards, landed wrong and broke his arm.” He shook his head, taking a deep breath and he couldn’t quite understand the look on Emma’s face.

“I don’t know how Locksley did it. He must have done ninety to get to the hospital and Rol cried the whole time, even with Scarlet and I back there with him. I thought the ER people were going to try and sedate all three of us.”  
  
“Were you nervous?” Emma asked, sounding a bit more surprised. This date had, officially, lost its edge. Damnit.

A proposal after a conversation about broken bones didn’t seem quite perfect.

“The most nervous I can remember being,” Killian answered honestly. “They had to reset Rol’s arm. And it was...I don’t know, it was awful. I can’t imagine being in that position.”  
  
“Getting bones reset? Haven’t you ever broken anything before?”   
  
“Oh no, no, no, that’s not what I meant. And I’ve been playing hockey for almost twenty years, Swan, I’ve broken plenty of things.”   
  
“So, what are you getting at then?”   
  
“I don’t know really,” Killian admitted, resting his head on his hand, the other still tied up with Emma’s. “I guess I just don’t know how Locksley did that. I don’t...I don’t know if I would have been able to do that if it…”   
  
“If it had been your kid,” Emma whispered, pulling her hand away from him to wrap around the back of her neck.

“Yeah.”

Emma nodded slowly and Killian’s whole body felt tense – everything slowing down until it felt like they were practically moving backwards. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t even in the same universe as the plan.

_Fuck_.

“But you were nervous right,” Emma mumbled. “So you could...you kind of knew what you were feeling?” Killian hummed in agreement and he could see Emma’s body move with the force of her deep breathe. “What happened when Regina got there? Did she absolutely lose her mind?”  
  
“No, actually,” Killian said. “She didn’t care about any of us. Would hardly even look at me or Scarlet. Just walked into the room and brushed out Rol’s hair and leaned against Locksley and, well, that was that.”   
  
“What was what?”   
  
“They’ve been through a lot, the two of them. Same as El and Liam. And it’s never mattered to either one of them. You know Locksley almost got traded too?” Emma shook her head. “Yeah, at the deadline the season after Liam got hurt. Gina wasn’t always his agent, some sort of conflict of interest, but the guy he had was completely screwing him over and most of the tabs really thought he was on his way out.

So Gina came in and glared at the agent and front office and kept him in New York and then got him an extension a couple years ago and they’ve been some sort of unstoppable hockey force ever since. Same thing when it comes to raising Rol and Henry too now. They’re some kind of collective unit.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Emma asked.

“No,” Killian said quickly, rushing over the words until he was practically shouting them across the table. Emma’s eyes widened slightly. “No,” he repeated. “It’s not. It is the opposite of a bad thing. I mean, right?”  
  
“Are you asking me my opinion on collective units or how they relate to children with broken bones?”   
  
“Either or.”   
  
Emma pursed her lips, brushing her hair off her face when it threatened to find its way into her eyes. He could barely hear her when she answered. “I think it could be nice,” she muttered. “Either or.”

His heart was going to beat out of his chest. He’d have to amend his earlier promise about being nervous.

That was now.

Killian was nervous and terrified and so goddamn _sure_ , he wasn’t certain how those first two words fit into his state of emotion at all.

God, he loved her an absolutely ridiculous amount.

“You ok?” Emma asked, leaning across the table to rest her hand on his forearm. “You got all glossy-eyed or something.”  
  
“Fine, Swan,” he promised. “Better than, in fact.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“Just...don’t move.”   
  
“What?”

Killian widened his eyes and maybe his heart had just stopped beating entirely. He couldn’t really breathe.

That was stupid.

It was going to be good.

Perfect.   
  
It was going to be perfect.

“Swan, just sit still for two seconds, ok?” Killian said, nearly knocking the chair over as he stood up. Emma nodded again, mouthing _ok_ , as he stepped towards her, hand halfway towards his jacket pocket.

She bit her lip tightly, eyes wide and _green_ and she didn’t blink when his knees nearly knocked against hers.

He couldn't think of a single word. He’d forgotten the entire English language. _Shit_. He needed to say something. He was supposed to kneel.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a really long time,” Killian said slowly, trying to make sure he said every single word perfectly. “An absurdly long time, if we’re being honest and, well, we should have…”  
  
And that was all he got out before he heard them – footsteps sounding as loud as some kind of Olympic avalanche of interrupting and _destroying_ and it might have been the most melodramatic thing Killian had ever thought in his entire life.

“Hook,” Roland shouted, practically jumping onto his back. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to get his knee down yet. Emma was going to do permanent damage to her lip, body slouching forward in her chair.  

“Hi, mate,” Killian sighed, trying to pry Roland’s hands off his shoulders. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be on a mountain right now?”

God, they were all there, the entire goddamn Mills-Locksley family, decked out in head to toe Team USA gear and the small crowd around them had already started to take notice, muttering under their breath something that sounded distinctly like _hockey_ and _America._   
  
Killian resisted the urge to kick the chair in front of him.

“Weren’t you?” Robin challenged.

“Change of plans,” Killian said and Robin’s eyebrows shot up his forehead quickly. “And that didn’t answer my question. Why are you here? Were you looking for us?”  
  
“Strange as it may seem, our off-day plans don’t entirely revolve around you two. No, after a few hours and several unanswered phone calls, we mostly got the message. But you guys might want to avoid Lucas for the next few days. She had to SnapChat on her own and she wasn’t pleased about it.”   
  
“I’ll text her when we get back to the hotel,” Emma muttered and this was exactly what he didn’t want to happen.

Killian groaned. “Swan.”  
  
“We did kind of blow them off.”   
  
“Hookie,” he corrected and his fingers found the chain around her neck when she leaned against his side. “This wasn’t some kind of malicious attack.”   
  
“Are you guys on a date?” Henry asked slyly, eyes narrowing with just a bit _too_ much understanding. Regina hadn’t moved an inch, but her eyes darted towards Robin’s and they seemed to be having some sort of unspoken conversation.

“Absolutely,” Emma answered and Henry made some kind of noise that should be patented by teenagers. “And you guys didn’t answer Killian’s question.”  
  
“It was cold on the mountain,” Robin said.

“Like...freezing,” Henry added. “Plus we’re hungry.”  
  
“Of course you are,” Emma laughed, tugging on the front of his jacket with affection. “You have those potato dumpling things yet? They’re awesome.”   
  
“I think you’re obsessed, Swan,” Killian said. She made a face. Robin and Regina were still staring at each other. This was an unqualified disaster.

“We could get dumplings,” Robin said and Killian didn’t even try to mask his groan. “Anyway, we’ve got tickets to ski jump later, right? Or were you guys going to blow that off, too? Scarlet will be mad.”  
  
“I don’t care about Scarlet.”   
  
“Belle’s here. Don’t you want to see her?”   
  
Killian glared at him, but Robin didn’t back down, determination practically rolling off him in that very crowded market. “Fine,” Killian snapped, holding his hand out for Emma. She took it without a word. “Dumplings and ski jumps it is.”   
  
Between the two of them, they ended up with nearly fifty text messages, two dozen voicemails and one very detailed death threat left by Ruby Lucas on Emma’s phone.

They fell asleep as soon as they promised Mary Margaret they weren’t actually dead, Emma’s voice catching in her throat just a bit when she repeated herself for the fourteenth time. The ring was back in the safe and the plan was back to square one and if Killian was going through some sort of stages of grief when it came to _fucked up proposals_ , then he was sitting decidedly in the realm of _anger_ just a few hours before puck drop against Finland and a potential gold-medal game berth.

God damn he wanted to hit something.

He whipped the stick in his hand, smacking a puck against the boards with the kind of frustration he hadn’t had in _years_ and Will let out a low whistle a few feet away from.

“What’s the matter, Cap?” he asked, hitting the side Killian’s skate with ice when he stopped next to him.

“Nothing,” Killian snapped. He shot another puck at the board. He was going to break his goddamn stick.

“Yeah, looks like nothing. Come on, what’s your deal? You looked like you were going to combust at whatever we watched last night.”  
  
“It was ski jumps, Scarlet. There was an actual jump, human beings flying through the air. Don’t act like you don’t know what it was.”   
  
“Ah, so we’re pulling away from humor completely, huh?”   
  
Killian glared at him, skating forward to grab more pucks and they probably should have been shooting on net. This was a bit more satisfying.

“That might be my fault,” Robin muttered, moving towards them with an apologetic look on his face. Killian rolled his eyes.

“This does not need to be some kind of intervention,” he groaned. “Stand down Locksley.”  
  
“For what it's worth, it wasn't intentional. I feel bad.”   
  
“You should.”   
  
He shot again, the sound ricocheting in his ears and maybe if he scored a few more goals it would be fine. He could ask after the game. After the media scrums and the questions from league reps about any potential injury status and the two-hour car ride.

“Why didn’t we move hotels?” Killian asked, met with matching confused expressions from his linemates. Well, not here. They still weren’t on the same line.

“What?” Robin asked.

“Hotels. Why didn’t move hotels closer to the arena once we started playing? This doesn’t make any sense at all. You’d think Lucas would be better about this.”  
  
“Oh shit, he’s super pissed off isn’t it,” Will muttered, glancing nervously in Robin’s direction.

“Don’t stare at Locksley,” Killian snapped. “I’m standing right here. Ask your questions.”  
  
“I don’t know that I have any questions.”   
  
“No?”   
  
“Uh, no, Locksley kind of explained it yesterday. While you were glaring at ski jumpers and trying to tell Henry it wasn’t really a sport.”   
  
“It’s not,” Killian yelled and he was barely keeping his footing on the ice. Or in his life. Whatever. “It’s just air and gravity and, it doesn’t matter, I’m not a scientist and Henry’s too good a hockey player to just...wait, wait, did you say Locksley explained it?”   
  
Robin grimaced, digging the toe of his skate into the ice as he made a noise in the back of his throat. “Maybe a little,” he admitted.

“What exactly was there to explain?”  
  
Robin made another noise, something that sounded a bit like the deep-rooted desire to be anywhere except standing in front of Killian while he was still holding a stick. “That we, uh, maybe fucked up your entire proposal,” he said.

Killian didn’t say anything immediately – not certain he could bring himself to argue when that had been exactly what happened.

“Yeah, well,” he sighed. “It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened here.”  
  
“What?”   
  
He wasn’t sure who yelled louder – Will or Robin or the ‘Hawks coach when he realized his three New York Rangers were ignoring the entire team again. Killian nodded, disappointment running through every inch of him.

Again.

That kept happening.

“Yeah,” he said. “After the first pool play game. Red called and she was on the phone still and Emma found me in that hallway around the corner from the locker room. It was Lucas that time. Although at least you guys apologized.”  
  
“Lucas thinks she’s not supposed to know, that’s why,” Will explained. “That’s what she told me yesterday.”   
  
Robin groaned.

And Killian had been _this close_ to finding a way out of anger and maybe inching towards _understanding_ before Scarlet opened his mouth and started the whole process again. This team needed to keep its goddamn opinions to itself – no matter what time zone any of them were in.

“Thanks,” Robin muttered, knocking his stick against the back of Will’s legs. “It’s going to work eventually, Cap.”  
  
Killian shot again, wrist flicking and he could have been giving instructions on how _not_ to shoot a puck for all the frustration he put behind the shot. “Sure,” he said and he sounded a bit like Roland. Robin sighed again.

The ‘Hawks coach was yelling, leaning over the boards to shout about _getting into a line_ and _getting ready_ and something that seemed like a less-than-perfect PR jab at the entire country of Finland. Killian’s stick was broken – he hadn’t even noticed.

Robin and Will both looked a little terrified to point it out.

Good.

Three hours later and Killian had broken two more sticks, scored a goal, assisted on Booth’s game-winner and...maybe broken his hand.

It, at least, felt like he had.

The league reps were losing their mind, half a dozen of them pressed around his locker as soon as Killian got off the ice and he didn’t even finish the third period before he’d been forced off the bench by an athletic trainer he thought he’d seen in Toronto once.

“I’m fine,” he said for the tenth time, holding up his hand like that somehow helped his claim. It didn’t. His hand was purple.

And it hurt like hell.

“Can you move  your fingers again?” Killian glared at the trainer, biting down on the inside of his cheek when he tried. It worked – it just wasn’t very easy. The trainer made a face and for as frustrated as Killian had been before the game, and during the game, he was just as nervous then, slightly terrified that he’d, somehow, managed to fuck everything up.

Again.

The league reps were still there – following him from locker room to trainer’s room, all of them standing with crossed arms and straight shoulders just inside the doorframe. They’d forced him out of his jersey and his pads as soon as he got out of skates and Killian could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket.

Of course.

Time zones, it seemed, were not important to anyone.

“Can I answer this or is that against the rules?” he asked to no one in particular. No one in particular answered. Killian winced when he moved, trying to keep his left hand still as the trainer pressed his thumb into his palm. “God, relax,” he hissed and the voice on the other end of the phone gasped.

“Is it bad?” Ariel asked, not even bothering to mumble some kind of greeting like a halfway normal human. “Who’s the guy on the team? That idiot from Toronto? Let me talk to him right now.”  
  
“He’s doing his job, Red,” Killian reasoned. Ariel didn’t seem impressed.

“Let me talk to him.”  
  
“You can’t do that.”   
  
“Killian Jones, let me talk to him.”   
  
“No.”   
  
“Can you make a fist?”   
  
“No.”

“Killian!”  
  
“What do you want from me, Red? It wasn’t like it was my fault.”   
  
It wasn’t. At least not completely. At least that was the story he was going with when the league reps inevitably asked him again.

He’d already scored and they were _winning_ and it was fine. He kept shooting and he was almost entirely ok, or at least close to ok, when he felt a stick on his back and pain shooting up his spine as soon as his body collided with the boards.

Killian glanced over his shoulder to find some NHL’er he almost knew grinning at him, stick horizontal in his hands and there was no whistle.

There was, apparently, no cross check.

They weren’t supposed to hit each other.

But Finland, it seemed, was just a bit desperate. And it didn’t stop. The first ten minutes of the third period were the most physical they’d played since they landed in South Korea, hits and slashes and a distinct absence of whistles.

Will nearly dropped gloves with some guy, shouting a string of curses that would have actually scared both Henry and Roland for life before the ‘Hawks coach got him back to the bench and kept him there for two straight shifts.

Killian did his best not to react, to keep a straight face and he didn’t know if Emma was in the league-provided seats or trying to get Merida to calm down about another social media mishap, but he knew she was _there_ and watching and he wouldn’t hit them back.

He wasn’t going to fuck things up.

At least not intentionally.

That, however, didn’t seem like an option when he got tripped up just outside the crease, a stick stuck in his skates and he’d thrown his left hand up in front of him before he really thought about what would happen if he hit the boards.

It would hurt – like hell.

“It wasn’t really your fault,” Ariel agreed. “Although you did look like you wanted to hit the entire Finland roster as soon as you got on the ice.”  
  
Killian made a noise, all too aware that he didn’t actually have to agree. Ariel already knew – Locksley had probably told her what happened too. “What did you tell, El?” he asked, the idea hitting him with as much force as the boards had and the trainer was wrapping his hand now. Shit.

“What?”  
  
“Yesterday. Or two days ago? It doesn’t matter. El called and said you were looking up internet rumors and then muttered something about how we wouldn’t be that stupid. What was it?”   
  
Ariel gasped again and he could nearly hear her swallow back her answer. “Red,” Killian continued. “What’s going on?”   
  
“I mean, it’s not real,” she muttered. “It wasn’t even a real site. Half of it was in Korean. It’s just spec. Gossip.”   
  
“Answer the question, Ariel.”   
  
“I don’t want to.”   
  
“You don’t want to?”   
  
“No, tell me more about your hand. What does Toronto think?”   
  
Killian laughed, but he was back to square one – certain Ariel knew something _terrible_ and he couldn’t quite fend off the rush of concern that shot through him. He wondered where Emma was. “It’s very purple, Red,” he said and there was a brace now. “Fuck.”   
  
“What? What’s going on? Updates, Killian.”   
  
“He’s putting a brace on.”   
  
“That could just be precautionary.”   
  
Killian looked up and Toronto nodded, apparently well aware of everything Ariel was shouting from a bed on Long Island. “Just to make sure you don’t twist it the wrong way in the next two days,” he said.

“Did you hear that, Red?” Killian asked and Ariel hummed softly. He laughed again, pressing the phone against his ear with his shoulder and the league reps were moving, making space for another body and he finally felt like he could breathe again.

“Are you ok?” Emma asked, worry practically rolling off her and her eyes got wide when she saw the brace.

“Precautionary,” Killian said before she could actually ask the question. “And not broken. Right?” He glanced at Toronto, nearly dropping his phone in the process.

“Not broken,” Toronto promised.

Emma sighed, eyes still wide and lip caught in between her teeth. Her hand found its way to the front of his t-shirt, gripping a bit tighter than normal and he needed to get off the phone.

_Ask her now_.

_Ignore the league reps._

_Do not ask her now_.

“You’re really ok?” Emma asked and Killian nodded, trying to work his arm around her waist without dropping his phone or moving his hand too much or actually falling off whatever table they forced him onto.

“I mean, the entire country of Finland can go fuck itself, but, yeah, I’m really ok.” His hand found its way to her waist and it wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it might have been comforting and maybe he needed to remember she was there as much as she needed to make sure he hadn’t broken his hand. "Plus, you know, gold medals."

“Cap, hang up the phone if you’re going to be gross right now,” Ariel grumbled and he’d almost entirely forgotten she was there. Emma’s eyes were going to fall out of her head. “And tell El you’re fine because she’s absolutely destroying my phone battery.”  
  
“She called me too, said your phone was going straight to voicemail,” Emma said. “Although that’s probably because you’re talking to A.”   
  
“I’m worried!”   
  
Emma laughed softly, gaze just a bit calmer when she brushed her fingers through his hair. She still looked nervous though, shifting back and forth on her weight and Killian couldn’t shake the idea that something was _happening_ , something big and important and Ariel and El both knew about it.   
  
“Take a nap, Red,” Killian said, thumb brushing across the front of Emma’s shirt. She blinked twice, mouth dropping open as she took a quick step back. “Swan?” he asked, sitting up and swinging his legs on the ground.

Four league reps actually gasped.

“God, I’m fine,” he yelled, not sure who he was trying to convince. “It’s bruised. I have played through bruises before. I am going to play in two days.”

Someone tried to argue – it might have been a league rep or it might have actually been Emma – but Killian shook his head, glancing back at Toronto who just muttered _you’re fine_ before watching him stalk towards the door.

Ariel had hung up on him. That was probably for the best.

“Come on, love,” Killian said, taking a step back towards Emma and tucking his thumb underneath her chin. “Let’s get out of here.”

Emma nodded, lacing her fingers through the hand that wasn’t in some kind of precautionary brace and Killian’s pulse practically echoed in his head.

They’d get the timing right eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, still with me, guys? Stick with me, guys. There's still a lot Olympics left. As always @laurenorder made this better. Come flail (and/or yell at me) on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

She was mad.

No, that wasn’t enough. She was angry. Furious. _Livid_.

Emma paced back and forth in the lobby of the hotel two hours away from a hockey arena that they had to get back to later that afternoon, muttering under her breath as she moved.

She’d been worried at first, the gasp she let out when she saw Killian slam into the boards the night before so loud Emma was certain they could hear it in the goddamn continental United States, but then they’d put him in a _precautionary brace_ and the league reps wouldn’t leave alone. She’d been certain it was broken, the sound of his whole body crashing against the ice echoing in her head even when they were back in their room and he kept promising how _fine_ he was in her ear.

They’d fallen asleep on opposite sides of the bed – Emma ignoring his protests completely as soon as he winced when he moved his arm the wrong way – and she woke up with the worry replaced by fury and, now, they had media obligations all afternoon.

Because Killian’s hand might not be broken, but it was still purple and just a bit green and those league reps who wouldn’t leave him alone didn’t want the face of the NHL to risk another injury.

Even with a gold medal on the line.

“Swan,” Killian said softly, catching the back of her jacket mid-pace and pulling her up short. “Sit down, love, you’re making me nervous.”  
  
“I’m making you nervous?” she hissed, tugging away from him and resuming the line she was marking as her own on the carpet.

“We’ve been over this. I’m fine.”  
  
“Your hand is not supposed to be that size.”   
  
Killian shrugged and, somehow, that just made Emma more upset. _Furious_. She was furious. This was supposed to be easy. These two weeks on the other side of the goddamn world were supposed to fun and they were supposed to win and, maybe, they’d see a medal ceremony or two and get half a second to themselves.

They hadn’t.

It had been the opposite of everything she’d planned and even getting time on their own felt like cheating somehow, the messages on her phone and death threats from Ruby and Mary Margaret’s absolute certainty that she’d been murdered somewhere in the Olympic Village, making Emma’s head spin.

She just wanted a few, uninterrupted minutes to tell her boyfriend – captain of Team USA and the New York Rangers and the _fucking_ face of the NHL – that she was pregnant. Probably. She still hadn’t taken a test.

She should try and find a test.

That would, also, require time.   
  
By herself.

God, she couldn’t breathe.

“It’s just swollen, Swan,” Killian reasoned, pushing out of the chair with his right hand and he kept trying to hide the left one, holding it lightly in front of his chest like she wouldn’t realize what he was doing. He was trying to make sure he didn’t twist it wrong or put any pressure on it or do anything that would keep him out of the game.

He was, he told her, determined to play.

“Move it then,” Emma challenged, rolling her eyes when Killian did something stupid with his eyebrows. “Oh my God, you know what I mean.”  
  
“There is a brace involved, Swan. I can’t move it. That’s the point.”   
  
“And it’s just going to be fine in two days?”   
  
Killian shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably.”   
  
“Probably.”   
  
“Definitely.”   
  
“This is incredibly stupid, you know that, right? You don’t have to play. The captain does not have to go do with this particular ship.”   
  
“I’m not going down with anything,” Killian argued and, now, he looked as furious as Emma. “I’m doing my job.”   
  
“This isn’t your job,” Emma yelled, voice jumping up several octaves without her permission. Killian took a step back, looking like he’d been shocked a bit and even she didn’t quite expect that kind of reaction.

“It’s not,” she continued, voice back where it should be and eyes boring a hole into the carpet under her shoes. “You got them all here, Killian, but you don’t have to...you don’t have to risk anything for this. It’s just…”  
  
“What?”

“I don’t know,” Emma admitted. She still hadn’t looked up, blinking quickly so she didn’t stage another emotional meltdown in the middle of the Olympics. Her shoulders heaved when she tried to take a deep breath and Killian’s shoes moved into her line of vision, thumb tucking under her chin until she couldn’t help but look back up at him.

“I’m fine, love,” he said softly, one side of his mouth quirking up.

“You keep using that word.”  
  
“That’s because it’s true.” He leaned forward, brushing his lips over her forehead and his thumb traced across the curve of her cheek when she’d absolutely started crying in the hotel lobby. She was a mess. “C’mon, Swan,” Killian said, tugging her back towards the chair and pulling her onto his leg before she could even begin to argue. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”   
  
“Way too much.”   
  
“You’re mad about my hand.”   
  
“No, I’m not,” Emma argued, but she knew it was pointless. _Open book_. “I mean, not rationally,” she added, resting her head on Killian’s shoulder as his fingers carded through the ends of her hair.

“And irrationally?”  
  
She scoffed and his hand shifted around her waist, lips finding their way to the juncture between her shoulder and her neck. “Irrationally,” Emma mumbled. “I’m super pissed off.”   
  
“Why?”   
  
“Because this wasn’t supposed to happen,” she sighed, feeling as if she were admitting to a lot more than a few words and half an idea of how it _was_ supposed to work. “This whole Olympic thing was supposed to be easier. We were just supposed to have some fun.”   
  
“Are you not having fun, Swan?”   
  
She smacked at his chest, tugging lightly on the tie he had to wear for media. “I want to go home,” she mumbled and she couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was smiling. “I don’t want all these people around all the time. I want your hand to not be eight sizes larger than it should be. And I want something vaguely catastrophic, but not horrible to happen to the entire country of Finland.”   
  
“We play that guy again a couple of weeks after we get back,” Killian said, tracing a pattern up her back and Emma could almost imagine they weren’t in a South Korean hotel lobby. “He’s a fourth-liner for the Panthers.”   
  
“That must be why he was so angry.”   
  
“Eh, I think they were just trying to show off.”   
  
“Against you.”   
  
“The entire country of America,” Killian argued, but he was laughing and he kept inching his hand around her waist. She couldn’t breathe again, could feel the air catch in her throat and she just needed a _few minutes_. “Swan?” he asked, pulling back to stare at her and her head fell off his shoulder. “Emma, God, you’re white as a sheet, what’s going on?”   
  
“Nothing,” she answered immediately and he narrowed his eyes at her. And then she remembered. Before the game and before his hand swelling up to some ungodly size that she should probably ask Ariel about.

The date.

They’d been sitting there and talking about broken bones and collective units and he said he’d been _thinking about this forever_ and he never said what.

“Swan,” Killian repeated sharply, gripping her shoulders tightly. “C’mon, the truth here, love.”  
  
“What were you saying before?”

“What?”  
  
“You were going to ask me something before. Twice now and you haven’t. So, come on, I want to know what’s going on with you.”   
  
Killian’s eyes widened and she could see his jaw tick slightly, tongue pressed firmly against the inside of his cheek. “This was supposed to be easier,” he muttered, repeating her words back and Emma wasn’t sure he even realized what he was doing.

“Is it not?” she asked softly and he shook his head slowly, eyes closed lightly.

“This entire goddamn team is the absolute worst.”  
  
“I think we agree about that honestly. What happened to that island idea? We could buy an island still.”   
  
“Or we could just lock ourselves in the apartment and not leave for a week.”   
  
“You’d get fined for not showing up to games.”

“I absolutely do not care.”  
  
Emma smiled slightly and this was good. This was normal. The banter and the teasing and if he kept _smirking_ at her like that she was going to kiss him senseless in the middle of the hotel lobby. Or maybe on the two-hour car ride ahead of them.

She made a mental note to ask Ruby why they hadn’t changed hotels.

“You’re deflecting, Cap,” Emma muttered, tapping her finger against his tie. Killian shrugged, but he didn’t answer and she was dangerously close to making a return to furious. She sighed and this wasn’t getting them anywhere.

Five minutes.

They just needed five minutes.

They didn’t have that.

Emma could hear heels a few feet behind her and Roland had started alternating between the national anthem and _America the Beautiful_ , his voice reaching the one chair they were both still sitting him almost immediately.

“Goddamnit,” Killian mumbled, head falling against Emma’s shoulder with a soft thump. “A whole week, Swan. At least.”  
  
“Deal.”   
  
“You guys know there are more than one chair in this entire hotel lobby, right?” Ruby asked, coming up short next to them with an amused look on her face. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw Killian’s hand, palm flat when it wrapped around Emma’s front. She opened her mouth quickly, but Emma glared at her and the snap of her jaw closing was the loudest thing in the entire country of South Korea.

“What do you want Lucas?” Killian asked.

Ruby grinned, a bit of an edge in the look that Emma didn’t entirely appreciate. “You’re really doing this then?” she countered.

“That’s not an answer to what I just asked.”  
  
“Hey,” Emma interrupted, sitting up quickly and Killian’s breath hitched when she moved. Ruby rolled her eyes. “How come we’re still here?”

“What are you talking about?” Ruby sighed. “And what does Cap’s hand look like today? Still as disgusting as it was yesterday?”  
  
Emma shrugged. “It’s kind of green now, but I think it’s supposed to do that. I’m going to call A when we get to the arena.”   
  
“Do not call, Red,” Killian hissed and that _knowing_ look was back in Ruby’s gaze. “She’s going to be stupid about this.”   
  
“She’s going to be stupid,” Emma repeated slowly. Killian nodded. “What is there to be stupid about?”   
  
“She doesn’t want me to play.”   
  
Emma lifted her eyebrows and she hadn’t known that. She knew Elsa and Anna didn’t want him to – had heard Killian arguing with Elsa earlier that morning, trying to keep his voice low when he moved towards the door and it hadn’t ended well, curses muttered under his breath until he sighed loudly and left his phone on the other side of the room.

“What?” Emma asked, twisting slightly to stare at him. “When did you talk to A?”  
  
“She texted me this morning. Wanted to see pictures of my hand. She doesn’t trust Toronto.”   
  
“The entire city?” Ruby asked and Killian rolled his eyes.

“The athletic trainer is the same guy from the Leafs. Apparently he’s, and I’m quoting here, an idiot with only half a degree.”  
  
“Like half a sheet of paper?”

“Ruby,” Emma sighed, but she didn’t take her eyes away from Killian. Or the hand he’d brought in between them, precautionary brace resting on Emma’s thigh. The swelling had to go down eventually, right? “Why doesn’t A want you to play?”  
  
Killian made a face, rolling his shoulders like this wasn’t important and Emma fought off a fresh wave of anger. “She thinks it’s a risk,” he mumbled, sounding as if the words were being dragged out of him. “A stupid one. She mentioned that several times.”   
  
“Well, that’s because it is,” Ruby muttered and both Emma and Killian turned to glare at her. She held her hands up in mock surrender, retreating back a few steps and Roland was still standing there.

“Are you not going to play on Friday, Hook?” he asked softly.

“Of course I am, mate,” Killian answered. He tugged Emma closer towards his chest, arm wrapped tightly around her waist and glanced up at her, as if he was challenging her to argue otherwise. “After all, I’m not interested in losing Humbert’s bet.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Emma groaned. “This is about a bet? A’s right, you are stupid. Graham wouldn’t make you do it if you don’t play.”   
  
“This is not about Humbert’s bet,” he promised. “This is about getting one chance at this and I’m not going to fuck it up.”   
  
His voice cut through the lobby, harsh and determined and Emma blinked once when he snapped his mouth shut.

And this wasn’t just about hockey.

Or the Olympics.

She just didn’t know what it _was_ about.

“You’ve thought about this,” she said, not even bothering to keep the accusation out of her voice. “When? You fell asleep like two seconds after we got back last night.”  
  
Killian made a contradictory noise, grimacing slightly and Emma was dimly aware of the growing audience around her, the New York Rangers Olympic contingent making its way into the lobby to stay on track of yet another schedule.

“I woke up,” Killian said simply.

“When?”  
  
“Does it matter?”   
  
“Humor me.”   
  
“My hand hurt,” he muttered. “And I woke up and you were finally asleep, Swan. If any of is going to be upset about other not sleeping, I think I get priority on that.”   
  
Emma’s shoulders sagged, all the fight falling out of her almost as soon as she met his worried gaze. He hadn’t moved his hand.

_Tell him the truth._

_Now._

She bit down on her lip, trying to find any oxygen and it was more difficult than it should have been. All of this was more difficult than it should have been.

“You shouldn’t play,” Emma mumbled, well aware she was fighting a losing battle. Killian Jones, captain of _anything_ , was not going to walk away. “You don’t have to play.”   
  
“I know. I want to.”   
  
“You are impossible.”   
  
“True,” he agreed, thumb tracing along her jaw. “But you love me for it.”   
  
Emma nodded slowly, leaning down before she could remember that there were half a dozen people staring at them, and kissed him, trying to prove she _understood_ in some kind of overwhelming, life-type way.

“I love you,” she muttered, hardly even pulling away from him when she spoke. She could feel him smile against her.

“I love you too, Swan. It’s going to be fine. And I’m absolutely going to win Humbert’s bet.”  
  
She laughed softly, pushing her fingers into his hair and Ruby had started tapping her heel impatiently at some point.

“You guys done, then?” she asked and Emma glanced over her shoulder to find her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Regina was glaring at both of them. “We’ve kind of got a media schedule to stick to.”  
  
“I helped write the media schedule, I know how it works,” Emma groaned. She tried to move, twist around so she could at least look at everyone face on or, maybe, stand up – and Killian’s arm just tightened around her waist, some kind of unspoken demand to stay exactly where she was.

“Alright, Miss Schedule, then what’s the plan?”  
  
“Did you just call me Miss Schedule?”   
  
“Are you not just leaving a trail of post-it notes in your never-sleeping wake?”   
  
“I slept through the entire night last night!”   
  
Ruby pursed her lips, a thin line of semi-judgemental red and she glanced over Emma’s shoulder at Killian for some kind of confirmation. He nodded. “God,” Emma whined. “I am sitting right here. If Killian gets to make stupid hockey decisions, then everyone needs to stop being so concerned about my sleeping habits.”   
  
“This is really dumb, Cap,” Ruby admitted and Regina made a noise in the back of her throat. “What happens if it gets worse?”   
  
“It’s not going to get worse,” Killian argued. Regina, it seemed, could not stop scoffing. “Gina, if you’ve got something to say, now is the time to do it. We don’t have time on the schedule for some glare-off here.”   
  
Regina glared even _harder_ and Emma bit back her smile, eyes darting towards Killian to find him smiling at her already, kissing just behind her ear.

“You’ve done a lot of dumb stuff since we’ve gotten here,” Regina hissed, leaning forward slightly for emphasis. “But this is, easily, the second dumbest thing.”  
  
“Second?” Emma repeated, not expecting that at all. Killian’s body tensed underneath her and he winced when he pulled his left arm up.

“Easily.”  
  
“Regina,” Killian warned, but she just glared in response.

“Ask El. She’ll say the same thing.”  
  
“Oh my God.”   
  
“She is really upset,” Emma added. Killian couldn’t really slump in the chair, but he did his best to try anyway, shoulders sagging a bit with the weight of his frustration. “Although this whole conversation seems kind of pointless.”   
  
Killian lifted his eyebrows and Will chuckled under his breath. Emma hadn’t realized he’d shown up too. “God, Cap,” Will muttered. “I think she can read your mind now.”   
  
“I expect at least one goal, Jones,” Emma said. “But I’ll take two assists too. At least.”   
  
Killian grinned at her, fingers dancing up her back again and Emma twisted at the touch, arching against his chest until he grinned, the force of it settling in the pit of her stomach. “I mean, they’re not going to hit you again,” she reasoned. “The entire roster would get fined to shit if they did that.”

“Exactly,” Killian agreed. “We go see Toronto this afternoon and he’ll make me move my fingers and it’ll be fine. Who knows, maybe by the time we get to Friday my hand’ll be slightly blue and that just seems patriotic.”  
  
“Blue seat blue.”   
  
“That doesn’t seem healthy.”   
  
“Eh, I’m not a doctor. Or an athletic trainer from Toronto.”

Robin laughed slightly – the look on his face making it painfully obvious that he always knew Killian was going to play – and Emma hoped they’d at least get a few shifts on the same line in the gold medal game.

They were going to play for a gold medal.

They were going to _win_ a gold medal.

Ruby made quick work of going over the schedule – two-hour car rides and, somehow, Roland and Henry were going to be in their car and Emma couldn’t quite bring herself to be mad about it when she saw the look on both of their faces, something akin to _overjoyed_ at the prospect of game-planning with Killian. And there was media all afternoon and Emma didn’t have to film Rangerstown stuff again until game-day, some kind of gold medal extravaganza with Will and Phillip that she was already dreading, and, eventually, she hoped, there would be five minutes to tell Killian the truth.

There wasn’t.

Hours later and she was slumped against the wall in the media room at the arena, chin resting on her knees as she tried to make sure her vision didn’t actually start blurring in front of her.

The questions were all the same. They kept asking the same goddamn questions, just using different words as if that would somehow get a different answer out of them.

It didn’t.

_Are you excited for the game? The US didn’t medal in Sochi does that play a role in your approach? How’s your hand feeling, Cap? Can you tell us anything about the injury, Cap? Have you gotten out onto the ice yet since the hit, Cap?_

Emma groaned at the latest rendition of the same question – this reporter opting to go the less traditional route of asking Robin and Will if they thought Killian getting hit would impeded his ability to skate – and she stopped even trying to update social media.

She saw a pair of shoes make their way into her line of vision, a low chuckle inching closer to her and Emma glanced up reluctantly when someone started talking to her.

“What?” she sighed and Graham’s smile widened. “Shouldn’t you be on the ice?”  
  
Graham shrugged, crouching down to rest a hand on Emma’s knee. “Shouldn’t you be SnapChatting or something? Doesn’t the public need to know about Captain America’s hand and status for Friday?”   
  
“If you’re looking for insider trading, you came to the wrong source.”   
  
“I’m not,” he laughed, sinking onto the floor and he was absolutely going to wrinkle his dress pants. “I just figured you’d be here and I’d say hi before I do actually have to get on the ice.”   
  
“You guys going to wreck later?”   
  
“Look who’s searching for insider trading now.”   
  
Emma shrugged, glancing back up towards the media table when she heard Killian actually sighed in response to a question. “So,” Graham said pointedly. “Things are going well, I see.”   
  
“Don’t be an ass.”

“That guy’s going to get fined so badly by the league. They were bordering somewhere close to dirty the whole third period.”  
  
“Who knew Finland could be so ruthless, right?”   
  
“Pride or something.”   
  
“Misplaced,” Emma grumbled and Graham laughed again. “They need to stop asking him the same question though, he’s going to just start checking reporters in the middle of media.”   
  
“At least it’d keep things exciting.”   
  
“Are you not excited?” Graham twisted his head slightly, staring at Emma like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to actually ask the question practically written on his face. “What?”

“Are you?” he asked.   
  
“Am I what?”   
  
“Excited.”   
  
Emma made a face, turning to gape at him. Graham looked terrified. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh fuck,” he mumbled, ducking his eyes and chewing nervously on his lip. “Nothing, Em?”  
  
“Nothing what? You’re honestly just saying words.”   
  
He took a deep breath, teeth threatening to rip his lip in half and Emma tried to stay patient. It didn’t really work. “What do you know that I don’t?” she asked, mind racing back to Ruby and the _second dumbest_ thing Killian had done in South Korea.

“Nothing.”  
  
“Oh my God, if I hear that word one more time.”   
  
“I don’t, Em, not really,” Graham promised and there was an earnestness in his gaze that nearly made her fall over. “Just what I’ve read.”   
  
“Read?” Emma repeated, practically screeching out the word and she knew she’d drawn the attention of all three New York Rangers sitting a few feet away from her. Graham looked as if he now feared for his life.

Graham rolled his eyes and the reporters were, finally, starting to move, the whole herd of them shifting like some sort of recorder-wielding unit. Emma glanced down at her phone – that left them with five hours until game time and scouting Canada and they were the only ones going.

The New York Rangers did not travel to goddamn South Korea to simply _play_ hockey. They were going to win.

And they bought semifinal game tickets to prove it.

“Em, you can’t yell like that, Jones is going to kill me,” Graham whispered, head darting up when he heard shoes behind her.

“What are you reading, Humbert? And if you tell me _nothing_ again, you don’t need to worry about Killian. I’ll murder you with my heel right now.”   
  
“That’s harsh, Em.”   
  
“Answer the question.”   
  
“There’s just been some stuff. On the internet.”

Emma rolled her eyes, frustration rushing through every single one of her veins until she was certain she was practically _made_ of it. She was going to murder the internet. That was impossible. She didn’t care.

“About Killian?” Emma pressed and Graham hissed in his breath, squeezing one eye shut. “The whole team, then?”  
  
He clicked his tongue and Emma’s frustration was replaced with something that felt a bit like dread. She felt like she’d fallen through the ice.

“What?” she continued, resisting the urge to actually start punching things. “And why are you reading that shit?”  
  
“Not intentionally,” Graham said. “It got sent to me.”   
  
“By who?”   
  
“You’re going to be super pissed if I tell you that.”   
  
“We’re already treading water in super pissed. Who, Humbert?”   
  
She didn’t get an answer. Of course not. There were footsteps and three sets of shoes and she could already hear all of them tugging their ties off, like some sort of anti-official movement.

“Humbert,” Killian said, nodding towards Graham as he held his hand out towards Emma. “You ok, love?”  
  
“Yeah,” Emma promised. She took his hand, letting him tug her up against his side and Will was staring at Graham like he’d just committed treason.

Which didn’t make sense.

Since he was Canadian.

The Olympics were stupid.

And she was exhausted. She’d, finally, slept through the entire night and it wasn’t nearly enough. Every single one of her muscles felt heavy, head falling back on Killian’s shoulder like there was a magnet there and she still couldn’t quite understand whatever it was Will and Graham were doing.

Robin shuffled in between all of them, hands stuck in his pockets and a nervous look on his face, like he was interrupting some kind of war council. He shot a warning look Will’s direction, something that seemed to scream _relax_ and Scarlet nodded once, taking a step back behind Killian – like he was flanking him.

“What is happening right now?” Emma asked, exasperated and exhausted and a slew of other adjectives that didn’t have a place in the schedule on her phone.

“Nothing,” three voices answered at once and she didn’t even to try to mask her groan, pressing her face into the collar of Killian’s shirt.

He didn’t say anything, just squeezed her hand and Emma got the distinct impression he was as confused as she was. “Shouldn’t you be on the ice, Humbert?” he asked, nodding in the general direction of the rink.

“I had a few minutes,” Graham answered. “Wanted to see Em.”  
  
Killian hummed in understanding. “Of course. Good luck, later.”   
  
It was a dismissal without actually saying the words, a quiet nod of his head a _goodbye_ without muttering the letters out loud and every one of them knew it.

Graham twisted his neck, glancing back at Will as if he was searching for confirmation and he scoffed when he didn’t get it. “Right,” he said slowly, reaching forward to squeeze Emma’s arm. “I’ll see you later, Emma.”  
  
And that was new.

That was important.

He hadn’t called her Emma in _years_ – probably not since he’d introduced himself in Vancouver – and she still had no idea what was happening.

“Don’t hit anybody later,” she said, tugging slightly on his jacket and Graham grinned at her before turning on his heels and jogging towards the locker room.

She waited until he was around the corner before turning on all three of them – their eyes wide when they saw the scowl on her face and Will even took two steps away from here.

“Are you guys done?” Emma asked and Robin nodded slowly. Will was trying not to laugh. Killian hadn’t moved an inch, just lifted his eyebrows when he pulled one side of his mouth up. He was actually trying to smirk at her.

“Do not pull that right now, Jones,” she hissed, pushing against his shoulders with as much force as she could muster. Emma took half a step towards him, fully intent on telling him where he could put his goddamn smirk, but she’d barely lifted her foot before she felt her stomach heave, flipping up into her lungs and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stay upright.

“Emma,” Killian snapped, both hands coming to rest on her hips. He’d forgotten entirely about the precautionary brace.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she mumbled and he laughed under his breath.

“Yeah and my hand isn’t swollen to hell.”  
  
“Still?”   
  
“It’s only been a few hours, Swan.”   
  
Good. Back to Swan. Back to nicknames. That was easier. She couldn’t quite cope when he kept staring at her like she was going to break at any given moment.

Just maybe meltdown.

Again.

She wished she was home. She was wished she was in _their_  home with the pillows and the Conn-Smythe trophy and vaguely reliable pregnancy tests.

“I could beat him up,” Will offered and Emma was only half convinced he was talking about Graham.

“It’s not worth the fine,” she argued.

“Eh, I don’t know. You’ve grown on me.”  
  
“Was that a compliment?”   
  
“It was if you’re Scarlet,” Killian muttered against her hair. He’d pulled her against his chest at some point, dragging her flats over the floor and rubbing out circles against her back. It almost made her feel better.

_Tell him. Buy a fucking pregnancy test. Ask someone to get more potato dumplings_.

“He’s a work in progress, you see,” Robin added, grinning at Emma and, well, if she couldn’t have David there to serve in some sort of _dad_ capacity, then maybe an actual dad would work too. “Eventually he’ll graduate to full-fledged adult.”

“I’m standing right here,” Will grumbled. “And can we go eat before we scout? Because I can’t do this on an empty stomach.”  
  
“This being the slightly cheating idea of scouting a game before you guys get film on them?” Emma asked.   
  
“It’s not cheating, Swan,” Killian argued. “It’s just seizing opportunities. Just goes to show you what kind of draw Canada and Sweden is. Getting tickets was almost painfully easy.”   
  
“Regina got the tickets.”   
  
“Semantics.”

The arena was only half filled when the whole lot of them filed into their seats a few minutes before puck drop, drinks in their hands and snacks for Henry and Roland and she hadn’t been able to actually get food before the game, a website disaster stateside keeping Emma and Ruby practically quarantined in the media room for the better part of the last five hours.

Killian bought her dumplings.

And snuck them into an Olympic arena.

“You’re getting good at that,” Emma pointed out when he sank into the seat next to her, hoisting his feet up on the empty row in front of them. “And look who’s a child now.”  
  
He grinned at her. “Please, Swan, I’m not going to start singing the national anthem any time soon, so that’s out and both Henry and Rol are way better behaved than Scarlet will be once Canada starts decimating Sweden.”   
  
“That much faith in the Swedes, huh?”   
  
“I have no faith in the Swedes at all,” Killian said easily. “They don’t have a goalie. You can’t win without a goalie.”   
  
“Have you even talked to the American goalie since we got here?”   
  
Killian shrugged. “John? Sure. John’s an ok goalie. I mean it helps he’s got an offense in front of him that knows how to score.”   
  
“You’re contradicting yourself. And what’s John’s last name?”   
  
“Blues.”   
  
“John Blues.”   
  
“Yup.”   
  
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”   
  
His eyes flashed up towards hers and Emma bit her lip tightly – ignoring whatever her pulse was doing in tandem with whatever her stomach couldn’t seem to stop doing and all those symptoms they explained to you in middle school were a complete fucking lie.

Except _that_ one.

That one where she wanted to make out with her boyfriend all the goddamn time.

He needed to stop staring at her like that. Or flirting with her. It might have been the flirting.

“John Blues,” Killian repeated, smile settling onto his face with an ease Emma hadn’t seen since just before their date had been interrupted. “Good goalie, just happens to play for St. Louis.”  
  
“The St. Louis Blues. Seems awfully convenient.”   
  
“I didn’t name him, Swan.”   
  
“Ah, well, yeah that would definitely be the strangest part of this conversation.”   
  
“His last name is Allen,” Will groaned, not even bothering to turn around. Emma laughed, swinging her legs over Killian’s outstretched ones and stabbing a forkful of potato dumplings. Ok, so maybe two symptoms were right.

“And anyway,” Will continued as they stood up for anthems, keeping one hand trained on Roland’s shoulder so he didn’t just start singing the praises of America. “Cap would never name a kid something as boring as John.”  
  
She felt her eyes widen and they weren’t supposed to be talking during anthems. Some kind of representatives of the United States they were turning out to be.

A kid.

She’d accepted it, knew it was happening, even without the test of the whole list of symptoms she’d learned at a school she couldn’t remember the name of.

But she hadn’t thought about the _rest_ of it, the future of a kid and Killian Jones, _father_ , was enough to make Emma weak at the knees.

They’d have to name it.

They’d have to name a kid and sign a birth certificate and raise it. It wouldn’t be an it. It’d be a her or a him and it would have a _name_.

“Fuck,” Emma breathed while the music switched from one anthem to another. Killian glanced in her direction, curiosity practically falling off him and she just shook her head. They weren’t supposed to be talking.

The anthems were over and the puck dropped and they all had a job to do – certain things they were supposed to watch out for or keep track of and every adult in a three-row radius had a pad of paper balanced on their knee.

It was exciting for all of five minutes, a scramble in the corner for the puck, but then the game seemed to come to an almost audible screeching halt and….nothing happened.

For two and a half periods.

No score, no hits, no nothing.

Emma tried to stop herself from yawning, but it didn’t really work and the sound had a domino effect across all of them – all of them slumped in chairs and draped over each other, limbs resting where they probably shouldn’t and heads on shoulders like some kind of human train of exhaustion.

“Man, this sucks,” Will grumbled midway through the third, sighing dramatically when Sweden iced the puck.

Again.

“How many is that now?” Robin asked, glancing behind Killian who was supposed to be keeping track of icings, offsides and something else Emma couldn’t remember. She was too goddamn bored.

Killian made a noise, shrugging slightly and shooting Emma an apologetic glance when he jostled her head. “I honestly don’t know. I stopped keeping track when we got into double digits.”  
  
“It’s weirding me out that they don’t have to actually touch the puck. That’s why this is taking eight hundred years.”   
  
“At least.”   
  
Canada won its ensuing faceoff and they all tried to actually pretend like they were interested in what was going on, but the puck got knocked out of the zone and that must have been the fifteenth offsides whistle that period.

Roland had started sprinting through empty aisles at some point, not even slowing down when Regina muttered to _be careful_ and Henry started racing him with six minutes left in the period.

“No jinx or anything,” Will said, shifting his arm over Belle’s shoulder. “But this is making me feel pretty good about our chances here. Even if Cap’s hand is still fucked up.”  
  
“Scarlet,” Killian sighed and Will twisted back to stare at the ice, a scrum against the boards as half the players tried to move the puck back onto open ice.

“We could use a fight.”  
  
“You get ejected for a fight,” Ruby muttered, barely even lifting her head off its place from where it was resting on Belle’s arm. “Honestly read the rule book, Scarlet.”   
  
“I thought that was just Cap promising the league.”   
  
“He did, but it’s part of the Olympic rules too. He’s just given the league an avenue to fine you guys if you screw it up. So don’t do something stupid on Friday because you think Canada is dumb. Or because John Blues isn’t actually a very good goalie.”

“He’s not,” Will agreed. “The only reason we’re here is because Cap’s good in a shootout.”  
  
Emma could feel Killian shift in the seat, trying to pull her against his side like that it was some kind of comfort and, instead, just yanking her into the armrest. It pushed into her side painfully and Emma gritted her teeth so she didn’t actually cry out.

“Jeez, Jones,” Ruby said. “You’re going to kill your girlfriend before you guys even get to major life goals.”  
  
She smiled at them when they both made noise, a mix of disbelief and objection and neither one of them actually said anything.

Emma pushed up, pulling her hair back over her shoulder and something had to happen in this game soon or, she was positive, Killian was going to stare at her so hard she was going to turn into stone.

And it did.

“Hey,” Robin muttered, drawing their attention as he pointed to the ice and a blur Emma recognized almost immediately.

He wasn’t nearly as fast as Killian, but Graham could outskate anybody on Sweden’s roster, darting up the ice and through defenders after _another_ icing. He’d just come out for his shift, fresh legs against an exhausted Swedish line, and it was almost too easy.

He didn’t even have to make a move – already behind the defense before they realized he’d moved between faceoff circles, skidding to a stop just in front of the net and putting the puck into the right corner of the goal.

“Shit,” Will muttered and, well, that was about as good a way to phrase it as anything else. “I’ve never seen him move like with Vancouver.”  
  
“It’s different here,” Emma explained. Killian’s head snapped towards her and maybe she could read his mind. “It’s a big deal for him, Canada, the medals, the whole nine yards. He’s going to pull out all the stops.”   
  
She met Killian’s eyes with a soft smile, trying to will him to understand her understanding and brushed his fingers against her jaw.

Game first. Everything else second.

“Ah, so he’s the Canadian version of Cap then,” Will said. Emma rolled her eyes.   
  
“Don’t be stupid.”   
  
“You like Cap better, Emma?”   
  
“I lied before, you’re absolutely the child of the entire group. Do you have to make sure Robin holds onto your keys so you don’t lose them?”   
  
Will looked affronted, but Belle laughed softly, grabbing her bag off the floor and pulling out a keyring. “I have them,” she said, shaking them for emphasis.

“And why would Robin have them anyway?” Will asked. “I mean, let’s be real here, Cap’s definitely the de facto dad. He’s like everyone’s protector.”  
  
The final horn went off and Emma breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring Will completely as Roland announced he was riding back with her and Killian.

They were, officially, going to play Canada in the gold medal game.

“Hey,” Killian whispered later, twisting slightly to lean over Roland who’d taken up residence in the middle of the backseat, head on Emma’s lap and feet draped over Killian’s legs. “Don’t fall asleep on me, love.”  
  
Emma hummed in the back of her throat, pulling her head away from the window. Roland had fallen asleep twenty minutes into the drive, exhausted from his complete play-by-play of how they were going to win a gold medal on Friday. He’d gotten a bit of help from Henry, who’d claimed the front set as his, resting his feet on the dashboard in a move that Emma was certain he’d also picked up from Will.

“I’m not,” Emma mumbled, but her voice was scratchy and she was certain she looked as exhausted as she felt. Killian laughed at her, grabbing hold of the hand that had been toying with Roland’s hair and tugging it up to his lips, kissing along the edge of her knuckles until she was close to actually giggling.

That probably would have woken up the kids.

“Yeah, you look it,” Killian said and Emma stuck her tongue out at him. He shifted in the seat, pulling Roland up with one hand wrapped around his waist and the kid barely made a noise when he moved, resting his head on Killian’s chest until he was balled up against him.

Emma’s heart stopped.

Or maybe started beating at a completely unhealthy rate.

“You’re so good at that,” she muttered before she could stop herself, eyes going wide when she realized what she’d said.

“What, love?”  
  
“This,” she said, like that explained anything. “Being with Henry and Rol and they both think you’re actually Captain America.”   
  
“I think they’re both old enough to understand the difference between comics and real life.”   
  
“That’s not what I meant at all.”   
  
“What then?”   
  
Emma bit her lip, not sure how she’d explain it without just telling him the truth and, God, she wanted to tell him. She wanted him to know, to see his eyes light up the way she hoped they would, to feel his lips crash against hers because he’d never been so _goddamn happy_ in his entire life.

She’d never been so goddamn happy in her entire life.

“Swan?” Killian prompted, pulling his good hand away from Roland’s back to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“I get why you’re going to play,” she answered. “And, well, I’d do the same thing. I’m...not mad and I’m almost not worried,” she laughed softly, trying to smile when Killian’s fingers pushed into her hair. “I get it, just...be careful. Please.”  
  
He blinked once, mouth opening and closing twice before he leaned forward to kiss her the way she’d wanted him to all day.

Emma sighed against him, any of the tension that had taken up residence in between her shoulders melting as soon as Killian’s lips hit hers and she closed her eyes lightly, trying to remember how _easy_ it was to fall into this.

There was a sleeping eight-year-old perched on his leg and a sleeping teenager in the front seat and they were still forty minutes away from the hotel, but Emma couldn’t seem to bring herself to move away from him, heat sinking into the pit of her stomach and down into her toes and she needed to tell him.

“Would you really pick something different?” Emma asked, the words falling out of her mouth without much thought or sense and Killian stared at her like she’d started speaking a different language.

“What?”  
  
“Oh,” she sputtered. “Um, what Scarlet was saying before. About John Blues or Allen or whatever his name is. He said you’d pick a better name.”

It was dark – twisting through mountain roads and there were more stars here than they’d ever be able to see in New York, but that didn’t do much to make him any more visible in the backseat of a league-provided car and Emma had to strain her eyes to try and make out his reaction.

“Pick a better name for a grown man?” Killian asked and the confusion in his voice was obvious even if she couldn’t quite see his face.

“Or, you know, for anyone.”  
  
This was a disaster. She was a complete disaster. And she couldn’t really breathe anymore, any comfort she’d gotten out of making out in the backseat gone with a rush of misplaced curiosity and maybe she wasn’t just worried about his hand.

She was every emotion she could name – all at once.

“Anyone,” Killian repeated slowly, like he was testing out the word on his tongue and Emma could practically _hear_ him thinking.

“Yeah, just like…”  
  
“Anyone.”   
  
Emma shrugged, not certain he could see her when the car took a particularly hard turn and Roland grumbled against Killian’s shirt, gripping the fabric tightly. Her heart was in her throat. “It’s fine mate,” Killian muttered. “Go back to sleep.”   
  
“Are we almost there?” Henry asked, voice scratchy when he leaned around the seat with still half-closed eyes.

“A half an hour I think,” Emma answered. She leaned forward to brush his hair out of his eyes and he smiled at her, humming in agreement before twisting back around and pulling his legs up underneath him.

They didn’t say anything for what felt like the rest of the car ride and Emma was half convinced Killian had fallen asleep too. She nearly jumped when he spoke again.

“You are too, Swan,” he said.

“I’m what?”  
  
“Good at this.”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, positive he had some sort of sixth sense for whenever she was feeling _something_ particularly strongly and she couldn’t just start crying in the backseat in the middle of a mountain range.

“Yeah,” she croaked out, hating how small and nervous her voice sounded and she could hear him nod, hair brushing against the headrest behind him.

“Better,” Killian promised. He laced his fingers through hers, squeezing tightly and his thumb brushed against her palm, a slow, measured rhythm that seemed to time up with the pulse she could hear pounding in her head.

“Thanks.”  
  
They should stop having these one-word conversations, they should talk and use actual sentences and maybe be able to see each other’s actual reactions instead of just depending on hands and brushes of hair. And they'd never really talked about it before, were far from planning on any of this and the mix of everything made Emma's stomach shift into her throat. 

They had to win first.

“Matthew,” he said, mumbling the word so softly Emma wasn’t sure she’d actually heard it.

She blinked blearily, hand finding its way to her ring out of instinct. “Matthew?”  
  
“Mr. V’s first name is Mathias. It’s, uh, well, it’s painfully Norwegian and I wouldn’t want…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath and turning to stare at Emma. Roland was still asleep. And they must have been close to the hotel.

“It’s a good compromise,” she breathed. “Not quite as intense as Mathias. Plus that’s a whole mouthful to announce after scoring goals.”  
  
He laughed under his breath, pulling Roland around again to kiss her temple lightly and Emma bit down on the inside of her lip.

“Exactly,” Killian said, hauling Roland up against his side when they pulled up to the front door of the hotel. “Wouldn't want anyone to be embarrassed.”

Emma smiled, hand going to Henry’s shoulders when he stumbled out of the car and she directed him back towards a waiting Robin and Regina. She tugged on the front of her jacket, fingers brushing across her abdomen and she tried to take a deep breath.

She fell asleep an hour later, wrapped up in Killian’s arms and doing her best not to roll onto a precautionary brace while the name flitted through her brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hear that sound? It's both of them dancing around subjects and worrying about each other and gold medals. Of course they were going to play Canada. Of course. As always, I'm stunned by every click, comment and kudos and even when you guys are (very) frustrated, I can't tell you how much I appreciate every real life emotion. 
> 
> @laurenorder made this better and @distant-rose will probably punch all of you to defend the idea of Matthew Jones. Come flail on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	8. Chapter 8

They went out the night before the gold medal game – some sort of Team USA bonding experience that Ruby refused to let the Rangers contingent sneak out of again.

_You guys already fucked this up for me once, we’re not doing that again. The league will have a fit. And we need more Instagram pictures_.

Killian grumbled, muttering words under his breath while tugging on country-provided t-shirts and Will actually showed up in the lobby with an American flag tied around his shoulders. Ruby sighed like a put-upon team mom.

“This is patriotic,” Will argued, nodding in Henry’s direction when he couldn’t quite contain his laugh. “See, the future of America appreciates it!”  
  
“It is pretty good, Ruby,” Henry said and she threw her hands in the air, stalking out the doors and towards the waiting cars. He was head to toe in red, white and blue – USA HOCKEY emblazoned across his t-shirt and Emma’s lungs felt tight when she saw _Jones_ stamped across the back.

“You look pretty on point already,” she said, slinging her arm around Henry’s shoulders and he didn’t sigh too loudly when Emma tugged him against her side. “All pro US and pro team.”  
  
“Just hockey,” Henry corrected. “I mean I don’t care about biathlon or anything.”   
  
“Which one is that?” Robin asked, Roland jogging behind him with a jersey on that was, at least, three sizes too big.

“God where did you get that?” Emma laughed, smile tugging on her mouth when Roland crashed into Killian’s legs.

“They’re selling them at some pop-up shop in that market you guys went to before.”

Killian glared at him. “Biathlon is cool,” he said. “You shoot things on cross-country skis. We should have gotten tickets to that. Way better than ski jumping.”  
  
Henry rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to argue about the merits of ski jumping, but he never got a chance, cut off by Ruby's heels and stare, announcing that if they didn’t get into the cars now, she was going to make sure they all got bumped to fourth line in the gold medal game.

“She’s obsessed with that schedule,” Robin muttered, sounding frustrated for the first time in the last two weeks.

“It was a lot of work,” Emma explained, falling into step with the Rangers contingent and trying to make sure Roland didn’t trip over his jersey.

“Swan did three quarters of it,” Killian added and she rolled her eyes in response, ignoring the swell of pride that blossomed in her chest.

“Ah, well, all for naught if you guys don’t win tomorrow, so...no pressure or anything.”  
  
Killian twisted his eyebrows, swinging open the car door for her and nodding at the empty backseat. “Ma’am,” he muttered and maybe they should have blown off another American-themed event.

“Captain.”  
  
“The sooner you get in the car, love, the sooner we get to the restaurant and get this over with.”   
  
“Are insinuating that you’d like to get this over with?   
  
“Yes,” Killian said, wrapping his hands around her waist and lifting her up onto the seat. “Entirely for the purposes of getting you back here. Alone.”

“You’re going to hurt your hand!”  
  
“My hand is fine, Swan. Swelling’s gone down and even Red said it didn’t look that bad this afternoon. My hand is the last thing you should worry about.”

“What’s the first thing?”  
  
“How long we last at this dinner before I come up with some almost plausible excuse to make out with you in the hallway.”   
  
“That’s sounds almost menacing.”   
  
Killian laughed, slamming the door closed in his wake and grinning at her, eyes bright and blue and she hadn’t been able to get _that_ particular conversation out of her head for the last twenty-four hours.

She still hadn’t told him. Not really.

But they’d almost talked about it.

Win first.

God, she hoped it was a boy.

They stayed for four hours – _four hours_ of talking and planning and trashing everything that was even remotely related to Canada and Emma was bordering close to restless by the end of it all, Killian’s hand on her knee and his fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm against the fabric of her dress.

He kept rolling his shoulders, downing glass after glass of water and Emma wasn’t sure he’d actually said a single word the whole time.

She’d let her mind wander when the conversation turned to Winter Classics and the pros and cons of playing outside and Emma closed her eyes lightly – thoughts turning to _Matthew_ and a tiny kid balanced precariously on skates with a stick in his hand and Killian’s eyes.

“Swan,” Killian whispered and Emma jerked against his hand. It wasn’t the first time he’d muttered her name. “Still with me, love?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” she stuttered.

“You want to go?”  
  
Emma nodded and Killian pulled her up, not saying anything when she caved against his side. “We’re leaving,” he announced, ignoring Robin’s open-mouthed expression at their abrupt departure. “Nine, Lucas?”   
  
“Ten,” Emma corrected. “I’ve got to go film that thing with Scarlet and Phillip before we leave.”   
  
Ruby nodded. “I’ll bring the coffee.”   
  
Killian didn’t wait any longer for more plans or another schedule or anything even remotely resembling hockey game-planning and Emma _giggled_ when he practically sprinted back towards the car. “Awfully anxious aren’t you, Jones?” Emma asked, trying to catch her breath when when he all but pushed them into one of the waiting cars outside.

“I can’t exactly disagree,” he said. He hardly got the words out before he was kissing her and breathing seemed suddenly secondary, every thought in Emma’s head racing towards the feel of him next to her and whatever he was doing with his hands, tugging on zippers and the edges of team-branded t-shirts.

“We are in the car,” Emma mumbled, halfway to fucking _straddling_ him in said car.

“Swan, you are sitting on top of me.”  
  
“I mean, not all the way on top. Just kind of halfway. Like a trial run or something.”   
  
“A trial run,” Killian laughed. “To what, exactly?”   
  
She waved her hand through the air, not quite sure what she was trying to explain and his tongue pressed on the front of his teeth was just unfair. “That’s cheating,” Emma added, tapping her finger against his cheek. “And you need to shave.”   
  
“The rules, love. Bad luck to shave in the middle of a win streak.”   
  
“Superstitious weirdo.”   
  
“Athlete.”   
  
“That too.”   
  
He laughed again – so happy it sent a shockwave of something down her spine when he pressed his mouth against her neck and she almost didn’t care that he’d absolutely leave a mark. He really needed to shave.

She was never quite sure how long it took to get back to the hotel or how they managed to actually get into the hotel and into an elevator and back into their room, leaving a trail of incredibly patriotic clothing in their wake.

All Emma knew was that she couldn’t stop kissing him and Killian kept muttering in her ear, quiet promises and how much he loved her and how glad he was that she was there. And when they fell asleep, a mess of limbs in the middle of a mattress that was almost starting to get comfortable, Emma bit back a smile as his palm pressed flat against her stomach.

She thought the noise was her alarm – thought it was already morning and there was a gold medal to be won, but it was still dark in the room when she opened her eyes and it wasn't an alarm. 

It was ringing. Her phone was ringing.

She reached forward slowly, doing her best not to wake up Killian and glanced at the name on the screen. “Phillip,” she sighed. “God, what time is it?”  
  
“Uh, I think like almost three,” Will answered and that wasn’t the voice she expected.   
  
“Scarlet? What are you doing? Why are you on Phillip’s phone?”

“Emma.”

“God, go to sleep. How are you going to play tomorrow?”

“Emma!”  
  
His voice surprised her – almost as much as the phone call – a desperation she didn’t expect and certainly hadn’t ever heard from Will Scarlet.

“What?” she asked.

“We need your help.”  
  
She squeezed her eyes shut, counting to five and doing her best not to groan too loudly. “Alright,” she sighed. “Hold on, let me wake up Killian.”   
  
“No! No! No,” Will shouted and Phillip sounded as if he was close to coming undone in the background, screaming _Don’t tell, Cap, Emma_. “You can’t tell him,” Will continued. “We..just...it can’t be anybody on the team.”   
  
“What is going on? Are you guys in actual trouble?”   
  
“I mean I guess it depends on your definition of trouble.”   
  
“Scarlet, I’m serious.”

There was a noise in the background, the phone changing hands and Will swore under his breath. “We’re locked out,” Phillip explained. “Like. Of the building.”  
  
Emma blinked once, sliding out of Killian’s arms and swinging her legs over the side of the bed as her mind tried to piece together this story. She actually did groan when she figured it out. “Oh my God, you fucking idiots. You missed curfew didn’t you?”   
  
Phillip sighed softly, an apologetic sound that was all the answer she needed. “What do you want me to do about that, exactly? And why are you calling me? You were with Ruby.”

“She’s not answering her phone,” Phillip mumbled. “We’ve called, like, eighty-seven times.”

“Cap said you know how to pick locks,” Will yelled, Phillip still holding his own phone and mumbling another quiet sorry at her.

Emma sighed. “Jeez.”  
  
“It’ll only take a couple of minutes, Emma,” Phillip promised. “Just help us get in and then you can go right back to the hotel. It’s just if Scarlet’s not in the room in the morning, he’s going to get totally fucked for the game.”   
  
“Poetic,” Emma mumbled, but she was already making her way back towards her clothes and it was some kind of miracle Killian hadn’t woken up. “I’m giving you guys half an hour. That’s it.”   
  
“That’s fair.”   
  
She glanced over her shoulder before she left – a string of words barely legible on the post-it note she left on the bed – and Killian didn’t move an inch when she left.

“Alright,” Emma said ten minutes later, stumbling out of the car to find Phillip and Will jumping up and down in front of the Team USA house. “I’m here. What’s the dilemma?”

There was a very distinct smell to the village, something that didn’t smell quite natural, but not quite fake and Emma squeezed her eyes closed when it seemed to reach out and smack her in the face.

“Well,” Will said slowly, reaching out to pull Emma closer to the building. “We’re locked out.”  
  
“Don’t you have keys?”

“Obviously.”  
  
“Ok, then I’m not sure why I’m here.”   
  
“We have keys to our actual room,” Phillip explained, shooting Will a glare and kicking at his feet when he didn’t offer up any more information. “But there’s a code on the front door that changes after curfew.”   
  
“That seems really advanced.”   
  
Phillip shrugged and Will scuffed the toe of his shoe into a pile of snow. “We’re kind of worried it’s going to set off some alarm if we get it wrong.”   
  
“This is insane, you know that, right?” Emma asked, twisting the ring around its chain. Will nodded. “So, what I’m just supposed to break into some sort of computer system now?”   
  
“We thought you might have the code,” Will said.

“You said you wanted my lock-picking abilities. I can, at least, do that!”

“We don’t have those either,” Phillip mumbled and Emma was going to kill them. Both of them. Several times. “We forgot they were in Belle’s purse.”

“So call her!”  
  
“She can’t get in the front door. Seemed kind of stupid to wake her up when we’d just need you anyway. And she's with Ruby. Who, as mentioned, refuses to answer her phone.”   
  
“Alright,” Emma sighed, pressing her fingers on either side of her nose. “So, let me get this straight. Door alarm with no code, you guys have keys to the room, but don’t have them with you, because why would you do that, so we have to break into that room too or otherwise Scarlet can’t win a gold medal.”   
  
“Yeah, that about covers it.”

Emma rolled her head back, taking a deep breath and this was, easily, the dumbest thing any of them had ever done.

It took three tries to figure out the code on the front door – _1980_ , God, and Will had practically cackled when the lock clicked open. “Shut up, Scarlet,” she mumbled, taking a step into the building and the smell was even stronger _inside_ than it had been out. “God, what is that?”

“Athletes,” Will shrugged. “And probably a shit ton of sex. C’mon, we’re the fourth floor.”  
  
Emma pressed her lips together, trudging up the stairs and trying to think of something, anything, except how awful it smelled in that building. She pulled a paper clip out of her pocket, ignoring the two _children_ behind her completely, and it only took a few seconds before the telltale click.

“There,” Emma said triumphantly, reaching up to twist the handle and push the door open. She nearly gagged when she did, hand flying up to her mouth and Phillip’s hand landed on her back, making sure she didn’t actually fall over.

“Oh fuck,” she muttered. “God, um…”  
  
“Around the corner,” Will nodded, answering a question she hadn’t actually asked and she all but sprinted into the room, slamming the bathroom door in her wake.

It wasn’t particularly dignified and she could hear Will pacing outside the door, brushing off Phillip’s anxious questions. Emma sank to the floor, shoulders heaving and she closed her eyes when she flipped her hand up to flush the toilet, resting her back against the vaguely disgusting shower door behind her.

“Emma,” Will muttered, knocking softly on the door. “Are you ok?”  
  
“Fine.”   
  
“Liar.”   
  
“I’m serious, Scarlet, shut up.”   
  
He hummed, but he didn't say anything else and Emma pulled her phone out of her pocket, not even bothering with the speed dial, just typing in Mary Margaret’s number from memory. It took two rings before she answered.   
  
“Emma?”

“Hey,” she choked out, tears falling down her cheeks. “Uh, you have a second?”  
  
“I have several minutes.”   
  
“What time is it?” Emma asked, dimly aware of kids yelling on the other side of the world. “Oh, shit, Reese’s are you in school? It’s the middle of the afternoon isn’t it?”   
  
“Actually, your timing is impeccable,” Mary Margaret corrected. “Recess. Now, come on, you’re crying. What’s going on? Killian’s hand?”   
  
“No, no, it’s fine. Swelling’s gone down and it’s not even really that purple anymore. Even Ariel said he should be good to go tomorrow.”   
  
“Then what?”   
  
“I, uh, I’m…”   
  
Will was still pacing outside, his footfalls sounding like boulders every time he took a step and Emma wrapped her arms around her legs, tugging them up to her stomach. “He wants to name a kid after Mr. Vankald,” she said.

“I don’t understand,” Mary Margaret said. “Who? Killian?”  
  
“Yeah. Matthew. I mean, that’s not exactly it, but you can’t name a kid Mathias. He wouldn’t have any friends and Mathias is a crazy name to say when they get drafted or have their first hat trick and, God, he’d have to play hockey, right? He couldn’t grow up with us and not play hockey.”   
  
“Emma, you’re not making any sense.”   
  
“Matthew Jones,” Emma said slowly and that was the first time she’d said _that_ out loud. She was crying again.

And she could practically _see_ the light bulb go on over Mary Margaret’s head, even if they were several thousand miles away and it was, technically, yesterday in New York. She gasped, knocking over what sounded like a mountain of paperwork and Emma knew she’d leapt off her desk.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret screeched. “Emma, are you pregnant?”  
  
She shouldn’t have been surprised how quickly Mary Margaret had gotten there – she probably knew before they’d even left for the Olympics. But _that_ word and what it meant and that picture of Matthew Jones she’d concocted in her head made all of it almost painfully real.

Will had stopped pacing.

“Yeah,” Emma whispered. “I think so.”  
  
“You think?”   
  
“I haven’t taken a test. I’m kind of freaked to do it here.”   
  
Mary Margaret hummed in understanding and Emma knew there were a hundred questions on the tip of her tongue. “No,” she said, answering the most obvious one. “I haven’t yet.”   
  
“Emma,” she cried. “Why?”   
  
“I don’t know.” Mary Margaret made a noise, a disbelieving sound that Emma absolutely deserved. “It’s just been one thing after another another. The schedule and pool play and then the games haven't been easy and his hand. We’ve barely had two seconds to ourselves. I’m not...not in front of the whole team, Reese’s.”   
  
Mary Margaret heaved a sigh and Emma tried to will herself to stop crying. It didn’t really work. “I want to, Reese’s. It’s not like I’m running.”   
  
“I know you’re not, Emma. But you’ve got to tell him. Soon.” She gasped again, snapping her fingers when an idea, apparently, hit her. “Oh!”   
  
“What?”   
  
“How did you land on Matthew?”   
  
Emma grimaced – trust Mary Margaret to get to the heart of the entire conversation. “I was...we’ve been kind of talking around each other for the past two weeks. There’s something else going on here, Reese’s. He keeps trying to talk to me and blowing off team events and staring at me like I’m made of glass or something.”   
  
“Well, you are pregnant.”   
  
“He doesn’t know that.”   
  
“That doesn’t seem good, Emma. And I think David knows. He’s been worried about you since the shootout game.”   
  
“I know. Ruby totally knows too. Both things. Whatever Killian's not telling me too. I’m surprised she hasn’t just shouted it in each of our faces in between media obligations.”   
  
“She wouldn’t do that.”   
  
“She absolutely would.”   
  
“Where are you now?” Mary Margaret asked. “It’s late for you, right? Or early.”   
  
“Early. Like three in the morning. I had to break into Will and Phillip’s room in the Village. They broke curfew. It smells awful. I got sick and freaked. I’m sitting on their bathroom floor.”   
  
“Oh, Emma.”

There was a knock on the door – Will’s quiet call making Emma snap her head around so quickly she nearly dropped in phone. “Yeah,” she said, sitting up a bit straighter when the door opened slowly.

He looked kind of stunned.

“Did you hear all of that?” she asked and Will nodded, taking a cautious step into the bathroom and crouching down in front of her. “Shit.”  
  
“Your car is gone,” Will muttered, frustration clouding his gaze and he stared at her like he was telling her the worst news in the world. “Phillip went down to try and keep him there and he was already gone. I, uh, I don’t know if we’re going to be able to get another one here since it’s after curfew.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“I’m so sorry, Emma.”   
  
She swallowed, tears pricking the corner of her eyes again and Mary Margaret was muttering supportive things in her ear. “Reese’s, I’ve got go.”   
  
“Yeah, I heard,” Mary Margaret said and if she wasn’t crying on the floor of an Olympic Village apartment Emma would have appreciated the attempt at positivity. “This is a good thing, Emma. And Matthew Jones is going to be the greatest hockey player to ever play the goddamn game.”   
  
Emma let out a watery laugh, head sagging forward as she tried not to crash against Will. “Yeah, he is,” she agreed.

“We’re going to wake up to watch the game. Call us after you win. No jinx.”  
  
“No jinx.”   
  
She hung up the phone, not even bothering to push it back in her pocket and tried to smile reassuringly at Will. “You ok, now?” he asked.

“I’m ok,” she promised, shivering slightly when she felt a chill rush through the room. “Why is it so cold in here?”  
  
“Oh, uh, we figured we’d open all the windows. Air it out or something. So you’d feel better.”   
  
Emma felt a rush of emotion shoot through her again, something she hadn’t expected from this team or these players and it was almost absurd how much family this kid was going to inherit. Even when they stranded her ten minutes away from her hotel room. She sniffled, trying to brush away the tears, but there wasn’t much of a point.

She’d, officially, dissolved into meltdown.

“Hey, uh, guys,” Phillip said, peering around the open doorframe. “I just called the car company again and they said no, for sure. Unless we want to walk back, which would probably end with Cap killing us, so I think it’s better if Emma just stays here.”  
  
Emma groaned, head falling on Will’s chest and she sagged slightly when his arms wrapped around her, his quiet _sorry_ ’s echoing in her head.

“Phillip’s room is better than mine,” he said and Phillip hummed in agreement, mumbling something that sounded like _taking_ and _couch_. “You think you can stand up?”   
  
“I’m not broken, Scarlet,” Emma grumbled, but she took his outstretched hand anyway, following him back towards Phillip’s room and it didn’t smell nearly as bad back there.

“So, uh,” he started, leaning against the wall when she collapsed onto the bed. “It’s a boy?”  
  
Emma laughed, the sound taking her by surprise – and for someone who couldn’t even _think_ the word pregnant earlier that week, she’d done a rather abrupt one-eighty.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “It’s early still.”  
  
Will nodded slowly, trying to hide his smile. It didn’t work. “He’s going to lose his mind. You know, in a good way.”   
  
“Yeah, I got that,” Emma mumbled, pressing back on her elbows. “Just...don’t…”   
  
“I wouldn't, Emma. But it does explain a hell of a lot.”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Yeah. Who knew some Coyotes fan would get it right?”

“Get what right?”

Will groaned, shifting on his feet and he, clearly, hadn’t meant to say that. “Uh, you know how A’s super bored?” Emma nodded. “She found some post the other day about you and Cap wandering away while we were watching skeleton and something about how worried he looked and that maybe you were....”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“Yeah,” Will nodded. “I don’t even know how they figured out who you were. I think it was just a ‘Yotes guy being a dick. Most of it was about Cap and half of it didn’t even read like English, but A’s made it her life’s work to figure it out, or something. She thought it was a joke. That’s why she sent it to everyone.”   
  
“Everyone,” Emma repeated, a fresh wave of nausea sweeping over her that had nothing to do with any sort of smell.

“Not, Cap, obviously,” Will said quickly. “Of course not. But all of us and El and Anna, probably Mary Margaret too.”  
  
Emma lifted her eyebrows, trying to nod with any semblance of confidence and they all had to go do hockey-related things in a few hours. “You should call, Cap, Emma,” Will continued. “Tell him where you are. And I’m sorry. Again. Make sure you mention that too, I don’t want him to him to kill me on sight.”   
  
“Deal,” she agreed, grabbing her phone as Will closed the door behind him.

She didn’t need the speed dial for him either, thumb flying over the screen and he didn’t answer. 

“Hey,” Emma said, nearly blurting the word into the phone. “Hey. It’s me. Obviously. I really hope you slept through the night and you don’t completely freak out when you wake up and I’m not there. I’m, uh, I’m in the Village. It’s an incredibly long story and I would have woken you up if I thought this was going to happen, but I didn’t and I’m fine...we’re all...everything is fine.”  
  
She took a deep breath, inhaling until there was almost _too_ much oxygen in her lungs and she’d said _we’re fine_. Jeez.

“Anyway, the schedule’s all thrown off now because I don’t have any clothes and God help me if I have to shower in this bathroom, so I’ll probably have to come back to the room at some point, but I’ve got to film here too, so I might just stick around here and then come back and...I’m babbling. God, how has this voicemail not cut me off yet? I just...I’m sorry I won’t be there when you wake up. I...I love you. A lot. More than...more than anything and today, because it’s totally today, it’s going to be good. Perfect, even.”  
  
Emma licked her lips, suddenly dry from talking too long and _today_ – she would tell him today.

“I love you,” she said again, smiling at nothing in a room that didn’t belong to her. “I’ll see you on the ice.”  
  
She swiped her thumb across the screen again, stuffing her phone under the pillow and tugging a blanket over her shoulders. She closed her eyes with the promise of _perfect_ in her mind tried to dream of a kid in a Jones jersey.

* * *

Killian woke up with a distinct lack of hair in his face.

He blinked, trying to focus on something as he shook his head against the pillow, groaning when the alarm didn’t actually stop. He smacked at his phone, knocking it onto the ground in the process and this was already going well.

There was no one next to him.

He pushed up quickly – several pillows joining the still-blaring phone on the ground – and glanced around the room. The sheets weren’t just cold – they were frozen and there wasn’t the telltale sign of a recently-vacated divot in the mattress.

There was just him and the phone and...a slightly crumpled up post-it. 

“Swan,” Killian called, glancing around like he’d suddenly find her standing a few feet away from him.

Nothing.

And no noise from anywhere else.

“Emma!” Nothing. Killian groaned, something that felt a bit like terror shooting down his spine and that was _ridiculous_ – there was nothing to be worried about. Maybe. Probably. Fuck, that phone was loud.

“Shit,” Killian mumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and swiping his thumb over the phone screen so quickly he was half certain he’d dislocated it in the process. At least it was his right hand.

It was still making noise, vibrating in his hand and there were, at least, thirty text messages there and several voicemails and, what, at first glance, appeared to be seven missed calls.

“Shit,” he repeated and Ruby was, apparently, going to murder him. Several times over.

**_How did this happen? Did you know she left? She’s going to collapse from exhaustion in the middle of the game. You’ve got to go with the entire Mills-Locksley family now_** **.** **_We’re not going to come back to the hotel because there’s not time and, apparently, South Korea does not understand the concept of public transportation_** **.**

That rush of fear had settled at the base of his spine now and Killian felt as if it were almost dragging him into the mattress, rooting him to the spot as his mouth fell open slightly at who exactly had called half a dozen times the night before.

One call from Scarlet, who, apparently, had gotten his phone back at some point, one from Phillip and five from Emma.

He ignored Scarlet and Phillip, hitting one of Emma’s messages, breath rushing out of him when he heard her.

_I really hope you slept through the night and you don’t completely freak out when you wake up and I’m not there. I’m, uh, I’m in the Village._

That one came at nearly four in the morning. The second one came a little after five, her voice scratchy like she’d just woken up and couldn’t quite believe what she’d seen.

_Hey, still me. And you’re still asleep. That’s good. It’s late. Or early. Definitely early. You know I think Phillip wakes up even earlier than you. I can hear him in the room, wandering around. It’s because that couch is disgusting and I stole his bed._

Killian didn’t remember standing up, only that he had, feet hitting carpet and phone gripped so tightly in his hand he was nervous he was going to break it. And that worry that had taken up residence in every inch of his body was, suddenly, replaced with something else – anger.

Maybe he should have listened to Phillip and Scarlet’s voicemails too. She still hadn’t explained why she was in the Village.

The third one came at seven and she sounded exhausted. He wondered if she’d fallen back asleep after message two.

_I can’t believe you’re not awake yet. I mean, I’m glad you’re not, something about strength and getting some and REM sleep too. There’s probably studies about that. Maybe I’ll look that up. I’m still in the Village, by the way, and it’s apparently impossible to get a fucking car._

Killian smiled in spite of whatever anger seemed to be rushing through every single one of his veins, Emma’s frustration slipping into the exhaustion and she’d mumbled something about a _lack of pillows and you and Phillip’s blankets are stupid_.

Voicemail four sounded just a bit resigned and had come a few minutes before he’d woken up. It also explained Ruby’s anger.

_Ok, so, I guess we’re just doing this here. You know Scarlet spent last night bleaching the shower? Yeah, I don’t….whatever. It’s nice. Ruby’s bringing me clothes and we’re just going to shoot here and I guess she’s got you going to the arena with the Locksley’s, so that’s fine. I just...this was supposed to be...not this._

She sighed and Killian sank back onto the edge of the bed, running an anxious hand through his hair, something in her voice setting off alarm bells in the back of his head.

_I really need to talk to you. Like before the game. We’ve just got to film this thing and then there won’t be time. Fuck, yeah, yeah, I’m coming. I’ve got to go. I love you_.

Killian sighed again, his grip on his hair making him wince and he barely even took a breath before he was practically smashing his thumb against the _call back_ button.

It didn’t even ring – straight to voicemail.

“God fucking dammit,” he mumbled, pushing his feet into the carpet so he wouldn’t start actually kicking things. The phone beeped and he hadn’t even been listening to her pre-recorded message. “Jeez,” he stuttered, blinking once and trying to clear his throat and it was going to cut him off before he even got a single word out.

“Emma,” Killian said and, well, he’d fallen straight into _dramatics_. “Love, you left me five messages and I still have absolutely no idea what’s going on. Fuck, you’re probably filming already.” He sighed again, tongue darting out over his lips and the phone buzzed three more times. “You’ve got to call me back. Ok? As soon as you guys are done, before you’re done. I don’t care. And tell Lucas to stand down. I’ve got other things to worry about than trying to make sure she doesn’t actually kill me between now and puck drop. I love you.”

He threw the phone back on the mattress, finally giving into the urge to kick the pillow in front of him. It buzzed two more times.

Killian ran his hand over his face, trying, and failing, to take an actual deep breath and he couldn't quite find the right word for whatever it was he was feeling. He might have to stage some sort of battle with Ruby Lucas later that afternoon.

Although South Korea’s public transportation did actually leave a lot to be desired.

And it hit him suddenly – like some kind of emotional bolt of lightning on the edge of the bed in a hotel room he couldn’t wait to leave.

Emma’s first voicemail came at nearly four – from the Village, with Phillip and Scarlet and a distinct inability to get back. They’d broken curfew.

Idiots.

Fucking idiots.

He wasn’t just going to battle Lucas. He was going to punch Will Scarlet in the fucking face.

It took him ten minutes to shower, put on a ridiculous amount of required team-branded clothing and practically race down the stairs, jogging into the hotel lobby – far too early and Killian tried not to take that as some sort of sign.

He also didn’t expect to find Robin waiting for him.

“Hey,” Robin muttered, sitting up a little straighter when he saw Killian.

Killian skidded to a stop, stuffing his hands in his pockets and raising his eyebrows, hackles lifting just a bit, like he needed to be prepared for something important. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Just jumping right into it, huh?”   
  
“We’ve got an hour before we’re supposed to leave and you’re sitting here like you’re waiting for something.”   
  
“Well, yeah, you,” Robin said. “And Lucas moved us up half an hour or something. I guess there’s stuff at the arena before the game and we’ve got to be there earlier.”   
  
Killian didn’t say anything – frustration and anger snuffing out any sense of worry and Emma hadn’t actually called back while he’d been in the shower. His phone had never been more infuriatingly silent.

“You’re freaking me out, Cap,” Robin muttered, matching Killian’s wide-eyed expression with one of his own. He was sitting perfectly straight now, one leg crossed over the other, tapping out a rhythm on the bend of his knee.

“Why were you waiting for me?”  
  
Robin shrugged. “I did bring coffee,” he said, nodding towards the table next to him and that didn’t do anything to help fend off whatever certainty Killian had that this conversation was already a disaster.

“That just kind of proves my point.”  
  
“Which is?”   
  
“Something is going on and no one is telling me the truth.”   
  
“It’s fine, Killian,” Robin said, sounding every bit like _team dad_. He hadn’t stopped moving his fingers yet.

“See, that makes it seem like a lie.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”   
  
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”   
  
Robin groaned, rolling his eyes and his hair stuck up slightly when he pushed his head against the back of the chair. “Please don't be like that. I get why you're like that, but, please. Come on, sit down, you’re freaking me out and you look like you’re going to break something.”   
  
“I haven’t ruled it out yet.”   
  
“I know, that’s why I need you to sit down. Let’s avoid any fines when we’re so close to all of this ending. We’ve got twenty minutes before the car gets here. Talk."   
  
Killian sighed, but Robin didn’t blink – staring at him until Killian felt his shoulders sag in acquiesce. He sank into the only other empty chair in the entire hotel lobby and Robin reached out slowly, pushing a precariously-filled coffee cup towards him.

“Drink,” he commanded. “And tell me what’s going on.”  
  
Killian did as instructed – feeling a bit like the eight-year-old who would, inevitably, show up sooner rather than later and probably launch himself into the very chair he was sitting in – and tried to will himself to stop worrying.

It was ok.

They were just filming.

He’d known that was going on before. That was the plan. That was part of the schedule.

The rest of it, however, seemed to be one ever-expanding problem.

And Robin hadn’t blinked in years.

“I think I won our bet,” Killian said and Robin scoffed under his breath. “Was that how it worked? I only remember the deadline.”  
  
“If that’s how you’re thinking about it, then we’ve got much bigger problems on our hands than the stakes of some stupid bet,” Robin sighed.

“I should have done it before we left. At home. Away from all of you awful people.”  
  
Robin laughed and there was a tinge of sarcasm to it, but there was also a sound that made Killian certain he was half right. “Yeah,” Robin admitted. “That’s probably true. Put it on one of the ridiculous amount of pillows you guys have.”   
  
“That seems almost romantic.”   
  
“What happened here, Cap? I thought there was a plan.”   
  
“There was,” Killian shrugged.

“And?”  
  
“And every time I tried to follow up on that plan or any deviation of the plan something, inevitably, fucked it all up. The games and video disasters and you guys.”   
  
“Sorry about that,” Robin mumbled, ducking his eyes and Killian shrugged again.

“We’ve had two hours by ourselves since we blew off team stuff and my hand’s been fucked for most of that and that’s just _another_ thing.” He kept running out of breath. He couldn’t keep sighing. And he couldn’t come up with anything better to do than sigh.

He’d never bothered listening to Scarlet or Phillip’s voicemails.

“How is it?” Robin asked.

“What?”  
  
“Your hand.”   
  
Killian blinked and he hadn’t really thought about it since he woke up – it didn’t hurt the night before and it was tinged a bit more green than usual, but Ariel had promised that had been fine and, well, he’d had much more important things to be worried about the night before, the sound of Emma’s laugh ringing in his memory in the middle of that stupid, hotel lobby.

“Oh,” Killian mumbled. “It’s fine. Bendable and pliable and everything.’  
  
“Pliable? Is that the word you’re looking for?”   
  
“I honestly do not care, Locksley. I’d just like to get to the arena and see Emma and then maybe win a gold medal.”   
  
“Definitely win a gold medal.”   
  
“Don’t jinx it.” Robin made a dismissive noise, taking a sip of coffee and staring at Killian over the top of the cup. “What?”   
  
“You talked to Phillip then?”

“What?” Killian repeated and he’d nearly dropped his coffee. He’d forgotten he was holding coffee.

Robin looked nervous, mouth opening and closing several times and he obviously hadn’t planned on this particular turn in the conversation. “Locksley,” Killian pressed, putting the cup down before he could actually drop it on his legs.

“Listen to your goddamn messages, Cap.”  
  
“That’s not the point.”   
  
“I mean, that’s exactly the point. How come you didn’t answer? You get a million and two phone calls in the middle of the night, you’d think you’d answer them.”   
  
“You answer a lot of phone calls in the middle of the night, then, Locksley?” Killian challenged and he’d moved out of anger for all of five minutes before falling back into it, face first. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he didn’t even wait for Robin to try and answer before tugging it out, groaning loudly when he saw the name on the screen – El.

“God damn,” he growled, just barely resisting the urge to throw the phone across the room. That would have made it difficult for Emma to call him back.

“You can’t fight anyone tonight,” Robin said pointedly, eyebrows raised and a slight smile on his face like he was waiting for Killian to just start fighting something right there. “Lucas is right, they’ll kick you out of the game. Not a good look for the face of the league.”  
  
“Shut up,” Killian mumbled.

“You really didn’t talk to Phillip.”  
  
“Was that a question? Shouldn’t that have been a question?”   
  
Robin shook his head slowly and his eyebrows were probably just going to exist on the top of his forehead forever. “No,” he said. “That was an observation from years of experience.”   
  
“Did they break curfew?”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Idiots.   
  
“Also true.”   
  
This conversation was going nowhere and the coffee was lukewarm now. That seemed like some kind of a sign. “They called Emma,” Killian said, not sure if that was a question or a statement or if he was just trying to go through the things he knew were actual facts.

“Also, also true,” Robin said knowingly. “I mean, you know Scarlet. He’s a one-man Emma appreciation squad. Why do you think he spent the night cleaning up after her?”  
  
Killian tilted his head – another shift of emotions settling in the pit of his stomach. They’d come full circle on worry. “What?”   
  
“Damn,” Robin muttered, like he hadn’t meant to give up so much information. “Listen to your messages, Cap! Phillip definitely explained it. He told me he had.”   
  
Killian pushed out of the chair quickly, eyes wide and he could almost feel the frustration falling off him in waves. He felt like he was drowning in it.

“Phillip called you?” Killian asked, tracing a line with his toe in the carpet. “Did he say anything about Emma?”  
  
Robin nodded slowly, the nervous energy practically _visible_ around him. “That she was feeling better when she woke up.” Killian stopped moving, head snapping up and Robin recoiled in his seat, pressing his shoulders against the chair as his chest moved with the force of his deep breath. “Why do you think Scarlet was cleaning the bathroom?”   
  
“Explain it,” Killian bit out and Robin hissed.

“Cap.”  
  
“Explain.”   
  
“Well, I mean, the Village is...you know...disgusting.” Killian nodded slowly, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek and he’d never seen Robin look quite so...intimidated. “And, well, they’d gotten locked out and I think they were terrified to tell you,” he continued, waving at Killian’s still-frozen body.

“So they got Emma out there and, from what Phillip told me, she, uh, well, she got sick and she talked to Will for a little while and then the car she’d taken out there had left and they couldn't get anyone into the Village because it was after curfew and she was just kind of stuck. I guess.”

Robin shrugged, the muscles in his throat moving when he swallowed and Killian barely had time to consider how absolutely _lame_ that excuse was before he saw red clouding his vision, struggling to stay upright.

“Cap?” Robin asked softly, leaning his elbows forward on his knees.

Killian glared at him. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

“What?”  
  
“If this happened and Emma had to stay out there and Scarlet spent most of the night cleaning his disgusting Village bathroom, then why wouldn’t anyone come and get me? Bang the fucking door down if I’m not answering my phone.”   
  
Robin blinked once and that, obviously, hadn’t been the question he’d been expecting. “Well,” he reasoned. “You probably wouldn’t have been able to get out there. The cars and the curfew and...we kind of just went over this.”   
  
“And you think I wouldn’t have fucking walked to the goddamn Village?” Killian snapped, half shouting the question in his friend’s face. Robin winced.

“It was like four in the morning, Cap.”  
  
“Wouldn’t you have?”   
  
“Yeah,” Robin answered immediately. “I would have. I probably would have gone with on this one too.”   
  
That helped some of Killian’s anger ebb and Robin still looked vaguely concerned that he was going to get hit at some point in this conversation. “What else did Phillip say?”

“Not a lot, really,” Robin admitted. “They had to go film and I could hear Lucas yelling at them about wearing country-appropriate colors in the background. He said Emma was better though. I think it was just the smell.”  
  
“The smell?”   
  
“Yeah, you know, in the building. All those twenty-somethings on their own for prolonged periods of time without slightly older adult supervision and no one knows how to actually clean.”   
  
“Except Scarlet, apparently.”   
  
“That was the other thing,” Robbin added and Killian just lifted his eyebrows. “Phillip said he was totally spooked. Sat outside her door, or Phillip’s door, whatever, the whole night. I don’t know how he’s planning on skating today.”   
  
Killian pulled his lips in between his teeth, rocking back on his heels and Robin still looked a little wary of the impending blow-up. He wasn’t unconvinced it still wasn’t coming.

“Cap?” Robin asked cautiously, pushing the coffee cup back towards him like offering freezing-cold caffeine was some kind of bartering chip.

Killian didn’t answer, shaking his head quickly and retreating to the other side of the lobby with his phone pressed to his ear. He’d never answered El. He’d deal with that later. He hadn’t talked to her since before the date and the almost-proposal and, _fuck_ , he’d asked about collective units in some kind of broad way that he just hoped Emma would understand.

He should have asked the night before.

He’d been far too preoccupied with kissing her, far too preoccupied with that slightly breathless sound she made whenever his lips found the side of her neck and he couldn’t seem to stop replaying that conversation from the backseat of the car.

Killian’s phone vibrated in his hand and he didn’t even have to look away to know it was Elsa, calling to find out why he hadn’t proposed or when he was going to propose or, maybe, wish him luck for a goddamn Olympic gold medal game.

He didn't answer.

He hit ignore.

And then tried to call Emma again.

Emma didn’t answer and Killian needed his mind to stop just suddenly reaching _realization_ with some kind of jarring stop that made the breath catch in his throat.   
  
He could feel Robin staring at him.

_It’s not my children you need to worry about. You guys aren’t idiots._

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, throwing his hand up against the wall so he wouldn’t lose his balance and that had been a mistake. The green on the back of his palm seemed to be taunting him somehow.

He pulled his phone away, shoulders heaving while he tried to catch his breath and he could dimly hear Emma’s voice mail message. They were still filming.

Killian swallowed back the emotion that had taken up residence in the back of his throat and stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

No.

That’s not what was happening. Elsa was right, they weren’t idiots. They weren’t unprepared or unprotected or any other word Killian could come up with while doing his best not to slide down the wall of a hotel lobby and trying to track down Emma and, maybe, win a gold medal later that night.

It didn’t really work.

_Matthew Jones_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record @laurenorder wrote "OH MY GOD LAURA" at the end of this chapter. So that's kind of where we're at. The payoff is looming. It's right there. I promise. And Will Scarlet didn't sleep a single second before the gold medal game. He feels real bad. Killian might kill him. Emma and Ruby might help. 
> 
> Come flail on Tumblr. Please don't yell too loudly. It really does work out. welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter 9

Killian shook his head quickly, ignoring whatever Robin was doing with his face on the other side of the room, and ran a hand through his hair, wrapping his hand around his neck and, well, breathing was a bit of a challenge.

“Fuck,” Killian mumbled and his mouth was dry and his lungs were too small and he couldn't quite hold his head up. He slid down the wall, resting his chin on his knee and tried not to have some sort of complete breakdown a few hours before puck drop.

He’d have to play hockey. Obviously. And green eyes. Killian hadn’t let go of his hair, gripping tightly and he couldn’t stop the image from flitting in front of him – a tiny, little kid on skates with blonde hair and Emma’s eyes and he was smiling before he could stop himself.

But what if he got hurt? What if he broke his arm crashing into boards or got pushed off monkey bars because other kids were the absolute worst? Did they have monkey bars anymore? That was dangerous, right?

They didn’t do that at schools anymore.

He’d have to ask Elsa. Or someone with actual kids who went to school. Oh, fuck.

No, no, no – this was a dangerous train of thought. There was no kid, named Matthew or otherwise, and no future hockey star.

There wasn’t. There was just an idea and some sort of explanation that didn’t make sense. Maybe. Definitely. Probably.

But she’d asked. Kind of. They’d talked about it. Kind of. As much as he’d actually talked about getting married and actually using the word proposal in front of Emma.

He’d left the ring in the safe.

Killian wished he could think of another word besides _fuck_. He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to will images out of his mind that didn’t belong there, twisting his phone around and ignoring Elsa’s messages completely.

He hit Emma’s name instead and they’d both been so busy, there hadn’t been any messages since the Opening Ceremonies and Killian couldn't quite believe that either.

**Canada consumes more macaroni and cheese than anyone else in the world. Canada has the largest coastline in the world. Canada, apparently, has an official phone number.**

**I can’t think of anything else. That’s about as deep as my Canadian knowledge goes.**

Killian smiled slightly and he couldn’t stop _thinking_ , mind racing and heart racing and he should have asked before they even got on the plane, should have promised absolutely everything in the entire goddamn world and then they could have taken on the Olympics as some kind of, officially, collective unit.

He added one more text message.

**I love you.**

It was, easily, the longest two hours of his life.

Roland didn’t stop talking and Henry didn’t stop talking and they were both filled with far too much patriotism, hanging over the front of the seats Killian and Robin were sitting in. Regina had, naturally, claimed the front seat, fingers flying across her phone screen because there was always something to do and a contract to negotiate.

He didn’t care.

He didn’t care about any of it – the contracts or how slowly they seemed to be driving or what sort of media obligations they’d have as soon as they got out of the incredibly slow-moving car. He just wanted to get to the arena and avoid Will Scarlet as much as possible, still not entirely certain he wasn’t going to just deck him as soon as he saw him, and actually have some kind of conversation with Emma.

And then try to win a gold medal.

That too.

“Killian,” Robin muttered, nudging him in the side with his elbow and he snapped his head around at the sound. “You still here?”  
  
“What?”   
  
“Roland’s asked you the same question half a dozen times.”   
  
“At least,” Henry added and Killian felt a wave of guilt wash over him, trying to plaster some kind of smile on his face that looked almost halfway convincing.

It didn’t work. Even Roland didn’t look impressed.

“Sorry, mate,” he said, twisting around until there was an armrest pressing into his stomach. Roland grinned at him. “What’s going on?”  
  
“How many goals are you going to score?” Roland asked. Killian actually did smile at that, reaching out to muss Roland’s hair before he could stop himself and that didn’t really help with the armrest situation, but it was enough to get his distracted mind just a bit more focused and the last twenty minutes of the car ride through the mountains were, almost, bearable.

They landed on two – a hat trick just seemed like too much to ask.

Roland promised to sing the national anthem with Humbert when America, eventually, reclaimed hockey gold and hockey glory and Killian almost stopped checking his phone obsessively.

“You should answer El at some point, you know,” Robin said, hand falling on Henry’s shoulders as they walked through the arena doors. “I think Anna’s driving her insane.”  
  
“That’s not my fault,” Killian argued. He could already see Will in front of them, pacing in front of his locker with his hands twisted around behind his back, staring at the floor like he was trying to actually see through it.

Robin sighed. “He is terrified you’re going to kill him.”  
  
“Who?”   
  
“Killian.”   
  
Will’s head snapped up at the sound of his name, eyes going wide when he saw them and Killian thought he saw him bite his lip, anxious energy almost palpable in the few feet between them.

“He thought he was doing the right thing, Cap,” Robin continued and Killian was only half listening, eyes scanning the locker room for Emma.

She wasn’t there.

“She’s, uh, doing video stuff,” Will said, taking an over-exaggerated step towards them and Robin barely suppressed his groan. “They’ve been gone for, like, an hour.”  
  
“Who?” Killian asked, snapping his jaw on the word. Will took a step back.   
  
“Uh, Lucas and, well, Emma, obviously. Since it’s her thing.”   
  
“Obviously.”   
  
Robin sighed, rolling his head back towards the ceiling and it was probably best that Regina had pulled Roland and Henry towards the opposite end of the hallway as soon as they’d turned towards the locker room. Robin had probably warned her.

This team talked far too much.

“Cap,” Robin cautioned, reaching out his hand to rest on Killian’s shoulder like he was Henry. He brushed him off, fingers knocking against his wrist and Will could have been a statue for as much as he appeared to be moving.

“Why?” Killian hissed.

Will’s eyes darted towards Robin, an unspoken plea for _something_ that might have been _help_ and it only served to frustrate Killian more, any calm he’d felt in the car gone as soon as they walked into the locker room and Emma wasn’t there.

“Sorry,” Will mumbled, scuffing his foot on the ground. He’d already changed. Or at least gotten halfway there. Killian wondered where Phillip went.

He’d rather not have to repeat himself.

“It needs to be better than that,” Killian said. Will looked like he was in pain. “So, I will ask you again Scarlet. Why?”  
  
“We weren’t trying to break curfew, you know.”   
  
“I have no idea what happened. That’s the fucking point.”   
  
Will grimaced and Killian wasn’t sure if he’d taken another step back out instinct or because he’d noticed the way Killian kept flexing the fingers on his right hand. He tilted his head, eyes going narrow and something flashed across Will’s face – a mix of disbelief and surprise and maybe just a bit of his own anger.

And Killian knew, without even hearing the words, he’d come face to face with Will Scarlet, self-designated protector of Emma Swan.

“Well, you guys practically sprinted out of the restaurant,” Will started, ignoring Robin’s quiet _jeez, Scarlet_ , and Killian crossed his arms over his chest. “So you left a little bit earlier than everybody else. You know I thought you were going to do it yesterday.”   
  
“Oh my God, Scarlet, shut up,” Robin groaned, but Killian waved him off, taking a step forward and Will didn’t move.

Well, he had been itching for a fight.

“You’re not helping your own cause, you know,” Killian said. “If you thought we got engaged, calling Emma to save your ass after you broke curfew seems to fly in the face of that.”  
  
Killian widened his eyes, waiting for Will to admit that he’d called his bluff, but he just laughed, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard.

“It was supposed to take five minutes, Cap,” he explained, squeezing his eyes shut when he hadn’t actually used Killian’s name. Old habits. “The car wasn’t supposed to leave.”  
  
“That still doesn’t explain why you called Emma.”   
  
“Of course it does!”   
  
Killian stuttered at that, Will’s voice breaking just a bit when he shouted the words. Robin looked stunned, gaze darting back and forth between the two of them like they were playing tennis in the goddamn summer Olympics.

“Of course it does,” Will repeated softly, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “Because she could fix it and she wouldn’t be an ass about it.”  
  
“What?”   
  
Will rolled his eyes – and his whole head, for good measure – huffing out the air he’d been holding since Killian and Robin walked into the locker room. “You’re an idiot, you know that,” Robin muttered.   
  
“Was there an apology in there somewhere?”   
  
“I said I was sorry as soon as you showed up,” Will sighed, but he couldn’t seem to meet Killian’s gaze. “I am, by the way. Sorry. And exhausted. And sorry.”   
  
“Explain, Scarlet.”   
  
“We fucked up, Cap,” Will sighed. “We were trying to show Belle some of the Olympic stuff and Lucas was with us and we were having fun. It wasn’t part of the plan, but we went out after dinner and we went to ski...something, I don’t know, but there was a medal ceremony and then we were hungry and we went out and we had no idea what time it was. God, Rook and I walked back to the Village. But it was late and Belle still had our room keys and they changed the code on the front door. Fucking America, man, none of the other countries have to deal with this shit.”   
  
“I still don’t understand. Why just Emma?”   
  
Robin was laughing – doubled over with his hand gripped around his waist and what appeared to be tears in his eyes – and Killian held up his hands in confusion. “What is going on right now?” he asked.

“For real, Cap?” Robin asked and there was a disbelief in his voice Killian had never heard before.

“For real.”  
  
“Scarlet didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Killian’s pulse thudded in his ears and the rest of the team was starting to flood into the locker room, sneakers on the floor and equipment tossed in front of lockers and he couldn’t move if he wanted to, mouth practically falling down to his feet.

Will couldn’t seem to actually look at him.

“What?” Killian asked and his voice was softer than he wanted it to be. He’d found his way to disbelief.

Robin chuckled. “And you keep talking about me being team dad.”  
  
Killian’s heart sped up, beating against the inside of his ribs almost painfully like it was trying to prove a point and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. That didn’t help. That just left him back in possibility and potential and a distinct _want_ he’d tried to ignore for the better part of the last two and a half hours.

He’d given Emma a name.

“Cap,” Will continued, ducking into Killian’s eyeline and wrapping a hand around his forearm. “You, like, lost focus there.”  
  
Killian exhaled loudly, air rushing out of his mouth in a huff and Will didn’t let go of his arm. “When?” he asked.

“When….”  
  
“When did she get sick? Was it bad?”   
  
“Uh,” Will muttered, drawing out the two letters into an impossibly long syllable. “It kind of happened as soon as she opened the door. It, uh, it doesn’t smell great in there. It’s the fucking worst, honestly.”   
  
Killian barked out a laugh, lips dry from his mouth hanging open for so long and he kept trying to force his questions into Will’s brain without actually saying them out loud. He couldn’t say them out loud – what if he was wrong?

_Matthew Jones, first-round draft pick and he could play for the Rangers and he’d teach him how to skate and God, Emma would be the greatest mom._

No. No. No.

_Get a grip, Jones_.

“Codfish heads,” Killian mumbled and Will shot him a sympathetic smile.

“Just with more actually sprinting up the stairs to the bathroom,” Will said. “She was fine after. Or fine’ish. I heard her call you a couple of times. That was weird, Cap, you don’t usually sleep like the dead.”  
  
“Seems like some kind of sick joke by the universe.”   
  
“Absolutely.”   
  
“How’d you end up getting in? If the code got changed?”   
  
Will’s smile widened and he shook his head like he was particularly impressed. “Emma figured it out. Took a couple of tries, but she’s some kind of Olympics expert. Just started trying out major dates in American history.”   
  
“Of course,” Killian muttered and he was almost surprised there wasn’t an actual explosion of physical pride make its way out of the center of his chest.

“It’s not like she wanted to be there,” Will added. “She wasn’t, well, she wasn’t very happy with us. Even this morning. She threw Phillip’s pillow at me when she realized I…”  
  
“Sat in front of the door all night?”   
  
“I was worried,” Will shrugged, widening his eyes meaningfully.

“That makes two of us.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Cap. I just didn’t…”   
  
He kept trailing off, not quite able to finish his sentences or his thoughts and those alarm bells in the back of Killian’s head were going to make him go cross-eyed. It was packed in the locker room now, media finding its way in and Killian could hear Roland screaming the Star Spangled Banner again.

“I know,” Killian said, clapping Will on the shoulder. He quirked his eyebrows, lips pressed together so he didn't say anything, just made some kind of impossible noise in the back of his throat that sounded as if he was actually _swallowing_ a gasp.

“Or,” Killian amended. “I think I know. Maybe.”  
  
“Cap,” Will breathed. Robin looked incredibly confused. Huh. Maybe everyone didn’t know. Maybe that was just the engagement.

One major life event at a time.

“Maybe,” Killian repeated and Will had never smiled that much in his entire life. This was Elsa’s fault. He should answer her text messages. “How much time do you think we’ve got before Lucas tries to get us in front of cameras?”  
  
“Guess it depends on how long this latest media disaster goes,” Will said. “Ah, but don’t quote me on that. I don’t know if we’ve reached disaster level yet.”   
  
Killian nodded – half a plan and a slew of questions and could he just come out and ask her? Was that part of the rules? Were there rules?

He didn't care about the rules anymore

_Matthew Jones_.

He spun on the spot, the phone in his hand buzzing loudly enough that it nearly drowned out everything that was happening in the locker room. Roland was doing circles around the Olympic rings, Henry a few feet behind him, trying to make sure that he didn’t trip over his own feet and Killian was half certain all his organs were systematically shutting down from some kind of endorphin overload.

“Answer, El before she blows up your phone,” Robin suggested, nodding towards it as it lit up again and there was a picture of the twins, wrapped up in what appeared to be several American flags.

Killian nodded, glancing in Will’s direction when he muttered instructions to the media room, and he was jogging out before he even realized he’d actually taken a step, scrolling through what appeared to be a nearly full inbox.

They got progressively less impatient as he kept scrolling.

**KJ, answer your phone.**

**This isn’t funny anymore.**

**KJ, you haven’t talked to me in days. DAYS. You’ve got wifi. You know how this works. Is your hand ok?**   
****  
**There are articles out there claiming you’re not going to play. KJ. Should you not be playing?** **  
**   
**A says it’s ok. Are you answering A’s texts and not mine, KJ? Because that just seems kind of wrong.**

**Ok. There are pictures now. THERE ARE PICTURES OF YOUR HAND ON THE INTERNET, KJ. Is it still that purple?!?** **  
**   
**Ariel, who it seems has still retained the ability to use a phone, promised me that it’s more green than purple now, which doesn’t seem that much better, but I don’t have a degree in that. So, ok. Score goals, KJ.**

**DID SCARLET AND PHILLIP ACTUALLY BREAK CURFEW LAST NIGHT????**

**KJ.**

**KILLIAN. JONES. I AM SERIOUS.**

The picture with the twins was the last one and he hadn’t noticed they were holding a sign in addition to the oppressively American outfits. God, it was still yesterday in Colorado. Killian had to stop walking so he could make out the writing – shaky at best and angry at worst, harsh streaks of ink on a sheet of computer paper that El had ripped on the end.

_Answer your phone Uncle Killian because Mom won’t stop yelling and it’s driving Dad crazy_.

Oh, that hadn’t come from Elsa. He’d just assumed. There was a cliché in there somewhere and Killian absolutely did not have time to consider it.

He tried to type without tripping over his own feet, typing out a reply to Liam and this was, easily, the longest hallway in the history of the entire universe.

**_That makes two of us. Tell El to relax. And thanks._ **

_Thanks?  
_ _  
_ **_Maybe the internet is right sometimes. Also Scarlet and Phillip definitely broke curfew last night._**

The reply didn’t come immediately and for half a second Killian thought it wasn’t ever going to come, but then his phone made another noise and he laughed out loud when he read the words in front of him.

_Holy shit. Good._

Killian stuffed his phone back in his pocket and he could hear the voices around the doorframe before he could see them – Emma’s frustrated and slightly exhausted groan and Ruby’s heels clicking on the floor like she was trying to dig a ditch through the linoleum with the force of her irritation.

“Mer, I can’t do anything about that,” Emma said and it sounded like that wasn’t the first time she’d repeated herself. “Tell Zelena I have no control over people's rampant patriotism during the Olympics. I promise, Phillip will not be personally offended.”  
  
“Aurora on the other hand,” Ruby muttered and Emma groaned again, flopping back in the chair and Killian could barely make out her hand moving in front of her. She was tugging on her ring. And he smiled in spite of himself.

Ass.

“Shut up, Rubes,” Emma mumbled, kicking at her for good measure and Ruby laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m still here, Mer. Constantly. Indefinitely.” Merida said something and Emma made a noise, scoffing softly. “He’s a grown adult, he can deal with it. Yeah, tell Zelena I said that.”  
  
She slammed her phone down on the desk, making Ruby jump slightly before laughing again, the sound ricocheting off the walls of the otherwise empty room. “Jeez, Em,” Ruby said, grinning at her. “That was actually impressive.”   
  
“I haven’t slept through the night in two weeks. I’m somewhere near the realm of completely pissed off.”

Ruby hummed, crossing her arms lightly over her chest and her eyes got wide when she noticed Killian in the doorway. “Hey, Cap,” she said and Emma jumped, at least, three feet in the air.

“Lucas,” Killian said evenly, stepping into the room and Emma dropped back into the chair, spinning quickly to stare, wide-eyed at him.

“Hey,” she whispered. She was still holding onto her ring, knuckles white and Killian smiled when her gaze met his. He knew she was going to say something else, some apology or explanation and he was only slightly worried about the damage her nails were doing to the inside of her palm, but he didn’t break his stride and Emma gasped slightly when he crouched down in front of her.

“What are you…” Emma started, but he didn’t give her a chance to finish, just rested one hand on her knee and pulled her fingers away from her ring with the other, and, then, he kissed her. He kissed her with every emotion he could think of, every thought he’d ever had, every hope he’d ever even considered when it came to her and them and _this_ and Emma sagged against him, fingers carding through his hair.

Ruby was still standing there.

Killian could dimly make out her own vaguely strangled gasp and he knew her hands had flown to her mouth, trying to stay quiet, but he was fairly convinced she knew _everything_ and he couldn’t seem to stop kissing Emma.

She gave as good as she got, nails dragging against the back of his neck and over his shoulder and there wasn’t a tie to grab ahold of, but she made due with what she was offered, tugging on the front of his Team USA t-shirt with enough force that he nearly lost his balance.

He ran out of oxygen before he wanted to, something stupid and biological and not even remotely helping whatever half plan he’d come up with on his sprint to the media room. Emma’s shoulders moved quickly when she pulled away from him, pupils blown wide and lips just barely on the wrong side of swollen.

“I love you,” Killian said, not sure why he hadn’t been shouting that from every available location for the last two weeks. “You know that right?” Emma nodded slowly, thumb ghosting over the chain and he pulled her hand back down, lacing her fingers through his and squeezing tightly.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she whispered. “This morning, I mean, that wasn’t...there was a plan here.”

“I know, Swan. But, uh, sometimes the plan gets absolutely fucked up, doesn’t it?”  
  
“What?”   
  
“You can tell me, you know.”   
  
Emma gasped again, the sound a bit closer to a whimper and Killian smiled, reaching his left hand up to brush away the tears that seemed to start falling as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

“Uh, Ruby,” Emma mumbled, glancing away and Ruby was already walking out the door that stupid, knowing smile on her face.

“Good,” she said, grinning their direction before slamming the door in her wake.

They didn’t say anything for what felt like an eternity, the only sound Emma’s quiet breathing when she tried to pretend like she wasn’t actually crying.

“It’s ok, Swan,” Killian muttered and he still hadn’t gotten up. Good. That was good. Stay on track. He was supposed to be crouching down anyway. Or something like that.

This just couldn’t have been good for his knees.

“How?” she asked. That wasn’t really the question he was counting on.

“What?”  
  
“I mean...that’s what’s happening here, right? You know. Or you think you know? Or, God, do you not actually know? Because if someone told you, I’m actually going to lose my mind.”   
  
“No, no, Swan, no one told me. I’m kind of waiting on you there.”   
  
She let out a shaky laugh, teeth finding her lower lip and Killian’s stomach flipped, anticipation and excitement and he was so goddamn happy, he couldn’t quite see straight.

It was a strange day.

“I don’t know if it’s true or not,” she mumbled. “Just a feeling. And a considerable amount of...disgusting.”  
  
“Disgusting?”   
  
“The drive over here was not a lot of fun. We barely made it in the arena before I got sick again. I thought Ruby was going to cry, she was so freaked out.”   
  
“Lucas?” Killian asked skeptically and Emma hummed in the back of her throat.

“She was worried.”  
  
“Yeah, I know that feeling.”   
  
Emma’s shoulders sagged and she hadn’t ever stopped crying, tears falling down her cheeks quicker than Killian could catch them on his thumb. “I love you,” he said again and Emma made a noise, a watery laugh that might have actually been a sigh or a groan or maybe the words _I love you too_ muttered back to him.

“Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?” Emma asked. “Or, you know, answering questions or something?”  
  
“The amount that I don’t care about either of those things is somewhere in the realm of infinity.”   
  
“I’m not sure that made sense.”   
  
“I absolutely don’t care about that either.”   
  
Emma laughed, fingers still wrapped up in his and she swiped her thumb over the back of his hand. “I’m nervous,” she whispered and Killian didn’t expect that. He should have.

He glanced up at her, shifting slightly until he was actually kneeling in front of her and, well, maybe this was going more according to plan than he’d thought.

“I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t be, Swan,” he said softly, brushing the tips of his fingers across her jaw and tracing a path towards her lower lip, tugged tightly in between her teeth. “But, there’s one thing I want you to understand and I want you to listen to me, ok?”  
  
Emma nodded and Killian took a deep breath before he continued. “I had a plan here,” he said. “And everyone knew and everyone was driving me nuts and I tried to do it three different times in the last two weeks. I should have done it as soon as we moved into the apartment. I bought it before we even moved into the apartment.”   
  
They were still doing it – still kind of talking around each other and neither one of them had actually used the words. Killian was fairly certain the actual letters were knocking around on the inside of his head, taking up residence in whatever part of his brain that set up plans for the rest of his entire goddamn life.

“It,” Emma repeated and two letters had never felt more important.

Killian nodded. “It’s sitting in a safe two hours away from here. Because I’m an absolute idiot who has thought of nothing except asking you for the last six months.”  
  
“Here,” she said slowly and he could practically hear the gears working. “You tried to ask...here. Oh my God, in the hallway!”   
  
Emma jumped up, knocking Killian back on his heels and he had to throw his hand back to make sure he didn’t wind up on his back. He hissed in his breath when his hand collided with the floor and Emma’s eyes went wide, dropping down to his level in one, quick movement that he would have appreciated if he wasn’t also ninety-five percent positive she was pregnant.

They should really use words.

And that was the first time he’d allowed himself to think _that_ word.

“Emma, stop moving so much,” Killian said, pulling her back to his side and she huffed against him, an indignant sound that he appreciated as much as feeling her fingers trace across the bottom of his t-shirt.

“Are you going to be like this?”  
  
“Like what?”   
  
“Calling me Emma all the time and being some overprotective weirdo? Because I don’t know I can handle that, as sweet as it might be.”   
  
“Sweet, huh?” Killian asked, smiling at her and Emma smacked at his chest lightly. “And, just for the record as it were, it was the hallway, the date and then last night if you hadn’t been so infuriatingly distracting and very, very good at kissing.”

“I think that was a compliment.”  
  
“It was definitely a compliment.”   
  
Emma took a deep breath, shifting against him and her hand had found its way under the shirt, palm pressed flat on his waist when she wrapped her arm tightly around him. “You ever going to tell me, Swan?” Killian asked, brushing his lips over his forehead.

He couldn't seem to stop touching her.

And his shirt was damp under Emma’s head.

“Are you?” she challenged.

“We should have bet on it. Something about goals or point totals or video hits. Whoever lost had to go first.”  
  
“That’s not exactly the most respectable way to start all of this.”   
  
Killian nodded, nudging her up with his shoulder and he laughed softly when she started to grumble, muttering curses under her breath until she was staring at him with an expectant look on her face.

“How many times can I tell you that I love you while we’re sitting on the floor before it starts to get weird?” he asked and he’d probably remember the look on her face for the rest of his life.

The smile wasn’t just bright – it was bigger than that, easy and confident and _certain_ and for as worried as Killian had been, as terrified as he’d convinced himself he had to be while sitting in the backseat of a car for two hours and as furious as he’d been at Will just a few minutes before, he was the opposite in that moment, staring at Emma’s smile like he was staring straight at the goddamn sun.

“I don’t know that there’s really a limit on that,” she said. “But you’re kind of lopsided at this point, doesn’t really seem fair.”  
  
“I’m willing to even things up, Swan.”

Her hair fell across her face when she laughed, blonde streaks that he could just barely see her eyes through and she leaned against his palm when Killian moved to brush the locks back behind her ear.

“I love you too,” Emma said, voice even and the words seemed to work their way into Killian’s very center, settling in the middle of him until he could hardly remember what it felt like to be anything except happy.

Overjoyed.

That might have, actually, been closer to what he was feeling.

He leaned forward, knees colliding with Emma’s and they were still on the _floor_ , a mess of limbs and arms slung around necks, but Killian’s lips found hers and his hand made its way around her back pulling her flush against his chest.

And Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, captain of Team USA and, maybe, dad, was absolutely going to miss pre-game media for this.

“So, how are we doing this, then?” Emma asked, mumbling the words against his mouth. “Rock, paper, scissors or should we try something a bit more refined?”  
  
“You already know what I’m trying to do, love,” Killian pointed out. “And I’m already pretty positive I know what you’re trying to do.”   
  
“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t actually say it out loud.”   
  
“I don’t have a ring.”   
  
“Yeah and I don’t know that I’m actually pregnant.”   
  
He could _feel_ his eyes get wider, could hear the breath rush out of his lungs and Emma looked nervous all over again, tugging her lip back between her teeth as she tried to pull her hand away from his. She wanted to tug on her ring.

“Swan,” Killian muttered and there was a note of awe in his voice he didn’t plan on.

“You’re the one who wanted actual words,” Emma grumbled, staring at her thighs and she didn’t reach for her ring the way he thought she would. She tugged her hand out of his and pulled it back to her front, resting her palm flat on her stomach “I’ve been too nervous to take the test.”  
  
“I’ve been carting a ring back and forth in my gear bag for the last six months,” Killian said. “I understand nervous.”   
  
“Did you think I wouldn’t say yes?”   
  
His eyes were going to fall out of his head. That couldn’t have been safe – his eyes weren’t supposed to get that wide and there was probably more science to it than he was willing to consider in the moment, stunned silent, as per usual, by Emma Swan.

“What?” he croaked out and Emma smiled again.

“Killian. Seriously?”  
  
“Emma.”   
  
“That’s not fair,” she accused, stabbing her finger into the emblem on his shirt. He grabbed her hand quickly, wrapping his fingers around hers and tugging them up to kiss just above her knuckles – where a ring would go if it weren’t sitting two hours away in a safe.

“There was half a plan,” Killian sighed. “But, uh, the idea of not actually be engaged to you is making it difficult to see straight at this point.”

And if he’d remember her smile for the rest of his life, then he’d think about her laugh even after his entire goddamn life was over – the happiness in the sound making his stomach flip and he gripped her fingers just a bit tighter to make sure all of this was real.

This was happening.

“You know I didn’t want to go to the restaurant,” he started and Emma quirked her lips in confusion, eyes narrowed slightly. “When you got here, they told me I had to go. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be anywhere except the restaurant and I didn’t want the set-up and I didn’t want...anything.

I was done. With that team and New York and everything that had to do with ice. I was ready to walk away from all of it. And you changed all of that. You crept into every single corner of my life and made me believe in something again and, for the first time in my life, it didn’t have anything to do with hockey. It was you, Emma. I believe in you and this and us, as some sort of collective unit that could deal with anything.

So, yeah, I am terrified and maybe this wasn’t on the post-it note schedule, but I love you. More than anything. And I believe in _this_ more than anything. So, there’s no ring and we’re sitting on some floor in fucking South Korea, but I can’t not do this. I am in this for the long haul, Swan. Some kind of indefinite, always by your side kind of thing.”   
  
He shifted back around, resting his weight on his knee and smiled at Emma. “So,” Killian said softly. “Emma Swan, will you marry me?”   
  
She moved before she answered, shifting her weight and widening her eyes meaningfully when Killian tried to stop her. “Jeez, I’m not made of glass,” Emma muttered, resting her hands on his shoulders when she was level with him. “Yes,” she said and for the first time in months, Killian felt like he could breathe.

Until he couldn’t.

That might have been because she was kissing him.

He didn’t argue, just tried to memorize the feel of her against him, the way her fingers moved into his hair and she kept trying to pull his head closer to her, thumbs pressed against his cheeks. He could feel the moisture on her face, the tears he wasn’t sure she’d ever actually stopped crying, mixing with maybe a few of his own and they still had to play a hockey game.

He still had to go play a hockey game.

“How did you figure it out?” Emma asked a few moments later and Killian appreciated just how breathless the question sounded. He kept tracing his thumb across her left hand, dragging out a semicircle over her ring finger and she absolutely knew what he was doing.

“I mean,” she continued. “If no one told you.”  
  
“Did other people know, Swan?”   
  
She nodded slowly, an apology written in her gaze and Killian did his best to smile in response. “Ruby figured it out and I, uh, kind of freaked out last night and called Reese’s and it was recess and she totally knew. She’s got mind-reader abilities on the other side of the world apparently, so, uh, she figured it out and Scarlet…”   
  
“A one-man Emma Swan protection squad.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“No wonder he was so mad when I walked in. I think Robin was nervous we were actually going to kill each other. He didn’t want to tell me.”   
  
“I asked him not to,” Emma admitted. “I...wanted to tell you.” Killian nodded slowly, nerves churning slightly in the pit of his stomach all over again. “I think,” she said slowly, licking her lips before she met his gaze straight on. “I think I’m pregnant.”   
  
He let out some kind of impossible noise, not quite a _whoop_ and a bit more than a cheer and there were definitely tears in his eyes, vision blurring just a bit when he ducked his head and kissed her.

Again.

He’d lost track of how much he’d kissed her – on the floor in the middle of the media room in the middle of an Olympic hockey arena.

“This morning, by the way,” Killian muttered and it could have been hours later for how little he cared about the time or the schedule and he couldn’t quite believe someone hadn’t tried to find them yet. He should probably thank Ruby later.

“Really?”

“It kind of...clicked. It’s El’s fault, honestly. That stupid thing Red sent them last week? She said something about how I shouldn’t be worried about her kids and then Locksley talked to Phillip and said you’d been sick. It, uh, it just made sense.”  
  
“That’s impressive, Jones.”   
  
“Smarter than I look.”   
  
Emma laughed softly, smile tugging on the ends of her lips and he hoped their kid had her eyes. Their kid. _A kid_.

They were going to have a kid.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there this morning,” Emma said again, something that sounded a bit like disappointment coloring her voice. “I wanted...God, I wanted to tell you every day and there was never any time and there were always people around and…”  
  
“What, Swan?”   
  
“I was totally freaking out.”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere, love. I’m afraid there’s no getting rid of me now.”   
  
“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Emma countered, shaking her head quickly. “I just...I don’t have a lot of experience with family. But, uh, I want that? I want that with you.”   
  
He’d heard a lot of things in his life – descriptions of his game and how talented he was and the tabs kept calling him the face of the entire league now – but Killian hadn’t ever heard a single string of words in his entire life that had meant more to him.

“That’s not a question, love,” Killian said, trying to will his certainty into the space that, somehow, existed between them.

“We don’t know for sure, though.”  
  
“Eh, yeah, we do,” he argued softly. “Although there’s no harm in trying again. Could maybe be fun.”   
  
“You all ready to be a dad now?”   
  
Killian nodded before Emma had entirely finished the question. “Yeah,” he answered easily. “With you, Swan.”   
  
“Maybe after we win a gold medal.”   
  
“See, you’re already a picture of responsibility.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but she hadn’t stopped smiling yet. And it was only a matter of time before someone, finally, found them.

“Uh, Cap,” Will stammered, twisting his body so he was leaning through the open door with his feet still in the hallway behind him.

Killian groaned, but he’d absolutely blown off media and he should, probably, get dressed. Emma squeezed his shoulder, a quiet reassurance

“He’s not going to kill you Scarlet,” Emma promised, smiling at Will. “It’s fine.”  
  
“Fine,” Will repeated cautiously, stretching out the syllable like he couldn’t quite believe it was true. Killian groaned.

“It’s fine, Scarlet,” Killian said. “You are, officially, off the secret-keeping hook.”  
  
“Wait, what?”   
  
Emma nodded and Killian grinned, Will’s eyes wide and mouth hanging open so wide he was probably going to do permanent damage to his jaw.

“I feel like this is the part of the conversation where I’m supposed to excitedly hold up my hand to show off my ring,” Emma laughed.

“What?” Will screamed. Killian and Emma both hissed _God, Scarlet shut up_ and he grumbled under his breath, taking another step into the room and hooking his foot around the chair Emma had been sitting in an eternity ago.

“So, when you say fine,” Will continued. “You mean, like, fine on all fronts. Like you guys stopped being stupid and, finally, said actual words?”  
  
“You are pressing your luck,” Killian muttered, but Emma clicked her tongue and shot an apologetic glance Will’s direction.

“Ignore him,” Emma said. “Yes to both of your, admittedly, misphrased questions. Didn’t you take eighteen years to decide Belle was actually your girlfriend?” Will rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue and that was, at least, ten points to Emma in whatever weird, bet they were probably running with. “Although,” she added. “You might want to keep one of those things a secret until we actually figure out that this is for real. You know, no jinx or whatever.”  
  
“This isn’t a hockey game, Swan.”   
  
“Exactly. Which is why we shouldn’t jinx it, don’t you think?”   
  
Will laughed softly, muttering _she’s got a point, Cap_ and Killian couldn't bring himself to argue with either one of them, far too happy and excited and every goddamn emotion a human being could feel in a single moment.

“You going to let me be your kid’s favorite, then?” Will asked. “I mean he’ll have to compete with A’s kid, but, you know, I’m willing to exist on multiple levels.”  
  
“God, Scarlet, do you even think before you speak?” Killian asked and he turned when he heard Emma shift against him. “What’s the matter, Swan?”   
  
“I’m happy,” she said softly, letting her head fall against his shoulder and he held onto her like she was the most important thing in the entire world.

She absolutely was.

“You should score a game-winner tonight, Cap,” Will continued. “Round out the emotional moment and then you can tell your kid you won a gold medal for him.”  
  
Emma sighed, but she didn’t correct Will when he kept using _he_ as some kind of maybe-future baby descriptor. “We agreed on no jinx,” she said.

“Emma, I spent the whole night sitting watch in front of your door so Cap didn’t kill me as soon as he saw me today. Give me this.”  
  
“It is almost poetic, Swan,” Killian admitted. “Some would almost say cliché.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Emma sighed, but there was something on the edge of her voice that he couldn’t quite name and it sent a rush of something very particular through Killian’s entire body. “How’d media go?”   
  
Will shrugged. “Ruby came up with some almost plausible excuse about why Cap actually ran out of the locker room and people almost didn’t entirely care. He’s too talented for his own good. Good news for your kid though. Genes and all of that.”   
  
“Do you know how any of that actually works?”   
  
“Absolutely not.”   
  
“Ah, well, a reliable source then.”   
  
“All night, Emma. Sitting against a door. All night. To make sure you and mini-Jones were ok.”   
  
“Go finished getting dressed, Scarlet,” Killian said, pushing off the ground and stretching his hand towards Emma. “We’ll be right there.”   
  
“For real? Or you going to be disgustingly in love again?”   
  
“Stop talking to Lucas about descriptors for relationships. Five minutes, tops.”   
  
Will made a noise and, well, maybe five minutes was a stretch, but he left anyway, mumbling about _being a favorite_ as he left.

“You’re going to be late,” Emma said when the sound of Will’s footsteps had disappeared entirely. “You’re not even changed.”  
  
“I had better things to do.”   
  
“You’ve got to go win a gold medal.”   
  
“No jinx.”   
  
“Unnecessary.”

There were tears on her cheeks again and Killian took a step towards her, one hand reaching up to brush them away and his left hand landed on her hip, thumb stretching out towards the front of her t-shirt and her stomach and, this time, Emma didn’t flinch.

“I love you,” she said softly, tilting up to press her lips against his cheek. “Let’s go win again, Jones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hai, I hope it was worth the wait! I had a lot of feelings writing this, so I hope you guys had a lot of feelings reading it. So, uh...let's go win a gold medal, huh? 
> 
> As always @laurenorder made this so much better. Come flail on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	10. Chapter 10

“What’s happening with your face right now?”  
  
Emma twisted her eyebrows, but Ruby didn’t blink, just stared at her with a calm, cool expression that was the opposite of every single emotion Emma was fairly certain she’d experienced in the last twenty-four hours, but couldn’t quite name.

She sank into one of the seats and the league had given them a _suite_ for the game, something about gold medals and _important_ that felt a bit heavy-handed all things considered, but the chairs were padded and Emma wasn't going to scoff at that particular gift.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emma said, doing her best to keep her voice even and it didn’t really work.

She didn’t need Ruby’s quiet scoff to prove it either.

“Hey, Emma,” Roland shouted, twisting around in the seat in front of him and he was trying to climb out of it before anyone could even stop him, one leg flung over the back and an arm stretched out towards her.

“Rol, relax,” Emma mumbled, leaning forward to help tug him towards her before he ended up on the ground. He grumbled a bit when he moved, muttering something that sounded like _I can do it on my own_ but Emma didn’t move her hands, tugging on the front of his Locksley jersey and ignoring whatever it was Regina was doing with _her_ face.

Emma tried to remember to breathe. And not touch her left hand. Or her stomach. And stop smiling so goddamn much.

She couldn’t do that last one.

“You know where my phone went?” Emma asked, glancing at Ruby out of the corner of her eye. Ruby’s smile stretched across her face in slow motion, some sort of unspoken understanding and that media relations training was the absolute worst because no one in the world was better at inferring things out of silence than Ruby Lucas.

“You lose your phone, Em?” Ruby asked and Regina made a noise in the back of her throat. “Something else going on?”

“What’s going on?” Henry asked, standing up when the first few cords of the Canadian national anthem made their way into the arena.

“None of you are supposed to be talking,” Emma hissed, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle and that probably wasn’t helping her cause at all. “You’re disrespecting the entire country of Canada.”  
  
Henry shrugged. “Ah, well, we don’t really like Canada now do we? Plus, Killian can’t lose the bet. That’d just be embarrassing.”   
  
“Not to mention a bad look for the face of the league,” Ruby added. “Isn’t that right, Regina? Not a good look for the endorsements.”   
  
Regina didn’t answer, just rolled her eyes and glanced back down at the ice and Emma heard her gasp slightly when she noticed who was standing on it.

They were on the same line.

The ‘Hawks guy put them on the same line – Robin and Killian standing next to each other at the blue line, sticks in hand and set shoulders and Emma’s heart did something absurd at the sight, tugging her lip tightly in between her teeth so she didn’t start to cry.

Ruby would totally know something was going on then.

Ruby absolutely already knew something was going on.

“Finally,” Regina muttered and Emma should really find her phone. El would want to know. What time was it in Colorado?

Three o’clock puck drop and that made it...something at home. And, shit, Reese’s. She’d never called Reese’s.

Ruby was still staring at her – Emma could feel it, eyes going narrow as soon as Roland started singing along with the anthem and Henry shifted on his feet, settling back into _protection_ when Emma assumed her eyes went a bit glossy.

“Emma,” he said slowly, reaching out to wrap his fingers around her wrist. “You alright?”

“Fine,” she answered immediately and she wasn’t even surprised by how _true_ it was. Ruby was laughing during the final notes of the national anthem, ignoring Roland’s quiet reprimand completely.

“Yuh huh.”  
  
“I promise, kid. Absolutely fine. You got your camera still? We should make sure we get photos when we win.”   
  
“No jinx.”   
  
“Yeah, we’re not doing that anymore,” Emma said and Ruby stopped laughing immediately, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open. Emma grinned at her. “No need. Or something.”   
  
“Or something,” Ruby repeated. Henry looked skeptical.

Emma nodded. She should really find her phone. “You really don’t know where my phone is?”

“Why is everyone on this team obsessed with phones? You got something you need to be telling someone, Emma?”  
  
“That’s almost a little _too_ obvious, don’t you think?”   
  
“You tell me.”   
  
Emma rolled her eyes, but she didn’t get a chance to answer before the game started and she was standing before she even realized she’d moved, heart in her throat and nerves in the pit of her stomach and they needed to win.

That was only fair.

Regina started tapping her nails on the armrest as soon as Robin won the opening faceoff and Roland was already screaming about a penalty or offsides or _something_ and eventually, Emma was certain, he was going to make one hell of a hockey player.

“Here,” Ruby said, five minutes into the period, shoving Emma’s phone into her hands. It was ringing.

“Where were hiding this?” she asked, wincing slightly when Killian collided with the boards a bit harder than he probably should have considering his hand was still on the wrong side of green. “God, why doesn’t he know how to stop?”  
  
“It’s a momentum thing. Your phone is still ringing.”   
  
Henry groaned, rolling his eyes when both Ruby and Emma glanced his direction. “It’s absolutely not a momentum thing,” he explained. “He knows how to stop, he was trying to hit that Canadian guy without actually hitting that Canadian guy.”   
  
“What?” Emma asked and Henry should patent that eye roll. “Your face is going to stick that way.”   
  
Ruby cackled and Emma shot her a pointed glare. Her phone stopped ringing.

“He’s trying to hit that Canadian guy,” Henry repeated, glancing at Roland. “What’s his name?”  
  
“Has Roland memorized the Canadian roster too?” Ruby asked, but there was something that almost could have been construed as pride in her voice.

“Thomas,” Roland said, not taking his eyes off the ice. He’d stood up when Emma did, but hadn’t gone back to his own seat and they were taking up the same few inches of space in between rows of chairs, both of them bobbing on their feet whenever the puck moved into the Canadian zone.

“And some French last name he can’t pronounce,” Henry added knowingly. Roland made a face. “Anyway,” he continued. “He was trying to hit him without really hitting him so he wouldn't get whistled. Will will probably make fun of him for it. That’s what he’s always telling me to do.”  
  
“Scarlet’s telling you not to hit people?” Emma asked.

Henry nodded. “Penalties don’t help me score, you know.”  
  
“Of course not.”

“It’s an intimidation thing.”  
  
“Does Cap need to be intimidating Canadians?” Ruby asked, glancing at Emma out of the corner of her eye. “Or is this some kind of celebration in the form of intimidation because he’s got all these pent up emotions to deal with?”   
  
“What?” Henry asked, gaze snapping towards Emma and she could almost _feel_ his confusion.

“Oh my God, Ruby, shut up,” Emma sighed.   
  
Roland yelled something – a mix of noises that might have landed decidedly in _screaming_ territory – nearly elbowing Emma in the side when he started shouting _skate, skate, skate_ at the ice. Emma’s phone started ringing again.

Ruby didn’t try to push it in her hands through, her own eyes going wide and Emma heard Regina’s breath catch in her throat.

“Shit, was he almost offsides?” Ruby asked softly and Emma nodded, joining whatever chant Roland seemed to be staging just in front of her.

Jeez, he was fast.

And he absolutely was almost offsides – moving quicker than a goddamn puck on the ice. Emma tried to keep her eyes trained on Killian, a streak of red and white just over the blue line and she could barely make out the puck bouncing in front of him.

He had to twist his stick around to make sure it actually moved in front of him and the closest defender was two and a half steps behind him already.

“He promised two,” Roland said and Emma pulled her eyes away from the ice half a moment to stare at him. “In the car here. Two goals. One for me and Henry.”  
  
“At least,” Henry added, glancing back at Emma with a smile on his face and she felt her stomach flip. “Three might not be bad though.”   
  
She couldn’t come up with anything to say and Roland was screaming again, jumping on his feet and shouting _Hook_ until he was almost out of breath.

Emma had spent a good part of the last year and a half consistently impressed by anything Killian Jones, face of the entire goddamn NHL, did on the ice. He was faster than anybody she’d ever seen play and, despite the tendency to turn the puck over in the neutral zone, he could weave through defenders like they weren’t even there.

He was good.

Absurdly good.

And she’d never seen him look better than he did in that moment.

It was like he wasn’t even moving, which didn’t make sense at all because he was very obviously sprinting, but he covered ground in a matter of seconds, pushing off the front of his skates and the defender didn’t even stand a chance.

“God, shoot Cap,” Ruby screeched next to her and Emma shook her head. He wasn’t going to shoot. Not yet.

And the goalie probably should have just skated out of the way completely for as much as he froze on the move – forehand, backhand and he got an impossible amount of lift on the shot. The tabs would probably use the word _liftoff_ in the headlines.

The goalie was flat on his stomach, legs splayed open and it didn’t matter at all. Killian’s shot sailed over his shoulder, hitting the center of the net with a sound Emma swore she could actually hear.

Or maybe feel.

That was kind of sentimental.

It was that kind of day.

Roland leapt up in front of her, feet colliding with her shins when he jumped and Emma barely even noticed, hand wrapped around the one ring she actually did have and the other arm wrapped tightly around her waist and she didn’t move an inch.

She hoped Matthew Jones was as fast as his dad.

“Oh my God, make fun of his celebration later,” Regina muttered, but she was grinning in spite of whatever criticism she had.

Ruby chuckled. “Em, you’ve got to get him to do something else. That’s awful. Oh, shit, we should be SnapChatting this shouldn’t we?”

“He does the same thing every time he scores,” Emma reasoned and her pulse could probably be heard in every corner of the entire, stupid arena. “Even the stick shift. He kind of pulls his stick across his body and then yells. It’s a thing. And Mer’s taking care of SnapChat. We’re just in charge of video when we win.”  
  
“Athletes,” Ruby said and that _pride_ was still in her voice. They were winning. And Emma could barely see Killian anymore – just bits of jersey and half of his number visible when Robin and Will jumped towards him against the boards, knocking him up against the glass.

Regina clicked her tongue, fingers flying across her phone. “Stupid ‘Hawks idiot. They should have been on the same line from the very first game.”  
  
“A rather pointed opinion.”   
  
“That came from El,” Regina argued and she couldn’t quite keep the laughter out of her voice. Her phone made noise again and Emma’s ringtone was barely noticeable over the din of the crowd and shouts of _USA USA USA_ and the two kids in the league-provided suite were probably louder than all of them put together.

“Or maybe Anna,” Regina said, twisting her lips slightly when her phone actually shook in her hand. “Oh God, yeah, definitely, Anna. No one’s ever been that excited in the history of anything.”  
  
“Em,” Ruby muttered, pushing the still-ringing phone in her hand. “Give David a break. I think he’s going insane without you around.”   
  
Her phone wasn’t connected to wifi. There was no wifi in the arena. And she didn’t really have time to think about what she was doing or what it would cost her after she did it, but David’s photo had popped up on her screen and Emma’s mind raced back to what Mary Margaret had told her the night before.

_He’s been worried about you_.

She swiped her finger across the screen.

“Hey, Dad,” Emma smiled and David grinned at her, something that felt a bit like _understanding_ in his gaze.

David sighed loudly, rolling his eyes as he slumped into the corner of the couch and Emma could barely make out Mary Margaret’s quiet laughter on the other side of the laugh. “You just going to start this conversation off by being difficult then?”

“You’re proving my point.”  
  
“I’m asking you a question.”   
  
“Why’d you call?”   
  
“Answer the question, Emma.”   
  
“Dad.”   
  
“Emma!”   
  
“Oh my God, both of you stop,” Mary Margaret interrupted, grabbing the phone out of David’s hand and ignoring whatever sound he made at the move. “Hi,” she continued, staring pointedly at Emma who had to resist the urge to melt into the floor of the arena, certain the weight of Mary Margaret’s stare was more than enough to get her into the ground.

“You are doing a very specific type of thing with your face, Reese’s,” Emma accused, pushing out of the seat and making her way towards the door. She ignored the quiet yells that came from the suite, exclamations of disbelief as she moved into the hallway and she muttered something about TVs out there. There were – little screens dotted along the top of the walls and Emma could even hear the commentary in the background on the New York side of the call.

“We’re winning,” Emma said as soon as she slammed the suite door shut behind her and Mary Margaret’s face shifted slightly.

“Is that code?” she asked.

“What?”  
  
“Code,” Mary Margaret repeated, hissing the words in some kind of strangled whisper like David couldn’t hear when he was sitting six inches away from her. Emma could still see his shoulder in the frame of the phone.

“I’m not that creative.”  
  
Mary Margaret shrugged. “I don’t know about that,” she argued. “How come we’ve never come up with a code though?”   
  
“That’s a very you guys thing to do,” David muttered, wincing slightly when someone got hit on the ice.

“Who was that?” Emma snapped. Her eyes darted up to the screen and David’s shoulder was moving now – he was laughing at her. And Killian wasn’t on the ice.

“Whoa, relax overprotective weirdo,” he chuckled. “Didn’t the petition promise they wouldn’t actually hit each other?”  
  
“Yeah and a fat lot of good that did us against Finland.”   
  
“How’d his hand look today?”

“Uh,” Emma stuttered, gaze still focus on the screen and Canada had taken three shots on net already. Will blocked the last shot, skating back to the boards a bit more gingerly than she would have liked, and Mary Margaret gasped loudly. “God, that goalie is awful. But, uh, yeah, the hand looked ok. I don’t know. I’m not a trainer. Or a doctor.”  
  
“Didn’t you see it?” David pressed, confusion seeping into the question and Emma pulled her eyes away from the screen long enough to look at Mary Margaret. She shook her head quickly, lips pressed together until they were nearly pulled back behind her teeth and Emma’s heart swelled slightly.

She hadn’t told David yet.

Maybe they did have some kind of unspoken code after all.

“Yeah,” Emma answered, doing her best not stumble over the words when she realized she hadn’t actually responded to David. “But, you know, only quickly. It’s kind of green still. Ariel said it was fine yesterday.”  
  
“Only quickly?”   
  
“David, are you interrogating me?”   
  
He rolled his eyes again and Canada hit the post that time. “Of course not,” he said, but there was something on the edge of his voice that made Emma narrow her eyes. And look at Mary Margaret again.

She shrugged.

“Are we all having four different conversations, right now?” Emma asked. David and Mary Margaret couldn’t answer quickly enough, loud protests and promises of _of course not_ and _definitely no_ and Emma scoffed.

They were absolutely having four different conversations.

At least.

“It’s got to be more than that,” Mary Margaret said. Emma lifted her eyebrows – although she wasn’t sure if that was because Mary Margaret seemed so _certain_ or because of whatever noise David was making, some kind of half-strangled thing that sounded a bit like he was actually choking on his attempt to not say words.

“God, Reese’s,” Emma muttered. “Clap the Detective on the back or something. He sounds like he can’t even breathe.”  
  
David groaned, but Mary Margaret did as instructed, smiling just a bit when she noticed how red his face had gotten. “Whatever, Emma,” he grumbled, sitting up a bit straighter and glaring at her from the other side of the world. “You’re grounded now. No going out on the weekend.”   
  
“Seems kind of harsh.”   
  
“Yeah, well, the number of conversations we’re having is absolutely your fault.”   
  
“How you figure?”   
  
“You tell me.”   
  
“God, David, at least try and make sense.”   
  
“You know how difficult this has been for me?” he asked sharply and Emma pulled her head back. “It’s not like I’m good at this. And you’re not helping at all either, all FaceTiming during shootouts and doing whatever it is you keep doing with your face. Oh shit,” he added, eyes darting away from the phone screen and Emma slumped against the wall.

She hadn’t been paying attention at all. Not even a full twenty-four hours into being a _fiancée_ and she was already the worst fiancée into the world.

Canada had scored – some name she thought she recognized from the Devils roster the season before – and Killian had been on the ice. She could just make out his number in the replay, not even bothering to listen to whatever thoughts Pierre McGuire had on the state of the United States’ game in the defensive zone.

“Who is that guy?” Mary Margaret asked, nodding towards the TV in front of her. “Does he absolutely hate America?”  
  
“Jeez, he’s talking about plus-minus like that’s a real stat,” David muttered and Emma had worked her way to the floor, mind racing and a tie game in front of her and it all seemed to hit her in one fell swoop.

She wished it would stop doing that.

She should have looked at Killian’s hand more before he left the media room. She’d been kind of preoccupied – getting engaged and telling your _fiancé_ you were, maybe, probably, almost definitely, pregnant had a way of take precedent over hand injuries.

It had been really green.

Emma was, suddenly, exhausted, eyes wide and practically boring a hole into the TV on the opposite wall. He was mad. She didn’t need the camera close-up or the barely-audible sounds of Doc Emerick’s commentary to know it.

She could see it in the set of his shoulders and and the way he’d practically collapsed on the bench, gripping his stick so tightly she was positive his knuckles were white underneath his gloves.

A fiancée. She was a fiancée. They were going to get married.

They were going to get married and have a kid.

_Matthew Jones_.

And she was exhausted and Killian was furious and they weren’t really winning anymore, but they weren’t losing yet either and that seemed like some kind of sign.

She’d become dependent on the clichés.

Emma let out a shaky laugh, joy seemingly bubbling out of her, as if that was something that could physically happen and she didn’t really care about the goals or plus-minus, just cared about what would happen when the game ended and they got back to a hotel room and a bed and each other.

“Em,” David said, jerking her out of her thoughts and she gasped slightly when she realized there was a ring somewhere in the country of South Korea. What had Killian said? Two hours away in a safe? He’d brought a ring to the Olympics with him.

He’d brought a ring to the Olympics with him to give to _her_ – she got a ring and a family and some kind of picture-perfect something that was real.

“Holy shit,” Emma mumbled and Mary Margaret laughed softly from the couch.

“Which conversation was that in response to?” David asked, the threat of a smile on his face as he tried to actually look like he was disciplining Emma for not listening to him.   
  
She rolled her eyes, balancing her phone in between her knees and resting her hands across her stomach. Mary Margaret’s eyes practically fell out of her head. David looked like he was about to choke again when Emma’s fingers traced over the back of her left hand.

“David, you’ve got to tell me what you know,” Emma commanded. Or, at least, tried to command. She still kind of felt like the petulant teenage kid in this conversation.

“I can’t,” he sighed, slumping forward for added effect.

“Can’t or won’t?”  
  
“You tell me.”   
  
“You’re repeating yourself now. That’s not a good look, Detective.”   
  
“Emma, oh my God, I’m serious. I cannot.” He took a deep breath, chewing on his lower lip thoughtfully before it looked like he got a second wind. Emma steeled herself for the argument. “And, anyway, I don’t know anything. Nothing. At all. Negative amounts of things.”   
  
“That’s not proper English is it, Reese’s?” Emma asked.

Mary Margaret shook her head. “Not even close.”  
  
“Ok, it’s not fair if you guys team up on me,” David groaned. “This is like Poker Face all over again.”   
  
“That was totally different,” Emma argued. “There can’t be any alcohol involved here.”   
  
Mary Margaret’s eyes widened again – brown and concerned and asking questions in some kind of unspoken code that was only serving to infuriate a very clearly lying David.

“Can’t,” he repeated slowly, darting his head towards Mary Margaret who just shrugged in response. Emma gripped the front of her blazer tightly, tugging on the fabric until she was worried she would rip it and that was a horrible look for an expectant mother. Oh God, she was an expectant mother.   
  
Maybe.

She should really buy a test. Maybe she should have learned some more basic phrases in Korean. How would someone say _I’d like to find out if I’m actually going to have a kid and maybe like some sort of reassurance that I won’t totally fuck it up and that my boyfriend will win a gold medal._

_Fiancé._

_Actually he’s my fiancé now. We got engaged. Just now. Before a gold medal game. In the Olympics. He bought me a ring_.

That wasn’t exactly a common string of words.

“Emma, what is going on with your face?” David asked and she laughed loudly, mumbling something about how Ruby had asked her the same thing.

Her jaw was starting to cramp, alternating between smiling like a complete idiot and worrying about the state of her clothing and whether or not her _fiance_ would break his stick from frustration on the bench. “I’m happy?”

“Was that a question?”  
  
“David!” He groaned loudly and the first period had ended. “That was fastest period in the history of hockey.”   
  
“Still twenty minutes, Em.”   
  
“Felt fast.”   
  
“You trying to get through the game? Got something to get back to? Some plan? Some event?”   
  
“After a gold medal game, David? Maybe. When they win I’ve got a ton of work to do.”   
  
“That’s not really what I was talking about.”   
  
“Yeah, I realize that. You know how I realize that?” David didn’t even move, just twisted his lips and crossed his arms over his chest and Mary Margaret looked concerned that one of them was going to actually start throwing punches, verbal or otherwise, through the phone. “Because,” Emma said, emphasizing every letter. “You are an awful liar, Detective.”   
  
Mary Margaret did her best to turn her laughter into a convincing cough and it didn’t really work. David shot her an exasperated look over his shoulder before turning his frustration back at Emma. She lifted her eyebrows in response.

“I’m trying to help, Em,” he said, straining over the words and for half a moment she was almost mad at herself for whatever argument they were staging. They’d stayed up for the game. Or gotten up early for the game.

It didn’t matter.

They were still the most supportive and consistent things in Emma’s entire goddamn life and she, suddenly, had a pretty good idea as to what David absolutely, positively, under no circumstance, couldn’t tell her.

“Well, stand down, Detective,” she said and she was back to smiling, the muscles in her cheeks protesting slightly at the movement.

And maybe she was almost crying.

They were probably going to start the second period soon.

“What?” David asked.

“You don’t have to keep the secret anymore, David. I know.”  
  
“You do?”

Emma nodded and David’s smile matched hers now. “As of two hours before puck drop. You’re off the secret-hook now.”  
  
“You’ve got to actually say the words, Em,” David said, the excitement in his voice making it difficult to completely understand him. “I’m not risking this. Killian can absolutely destroy me in some kind of fight for your hand.”   
  
Mary Margaret screeched – an actual, honest to goodness screech that probably shook the windowpanes of the loft and maybe did some damage to the door or David’s eardrums. She leapt off the couch, knocking over a glass of something on the coffee table and David just barely pulled the TV remote out of harm’s way before Mary Margaret yanked the phone out of his hands and stared at Emma like she’d never quite seen her before.

Emma was never going to stop smiling.

“Words,” Mary Margaret demanded, still standing in the middle of the loft with the phone held out in front of her.

“What did you spill?” Emma asked. “Are you drinking wine in the middle of the night?”  
  
“Emma!”   
  
Emma nodded, pursing her lips slightly, but she couldn’t quite look away from Mary Margaret – half convinced she was the physical embodiment of sunshine and positivity and she’d known from the very beginning.

“You guys already stole the Rangers theme,” Emma said slowly, not entirely sure when she’d started crying or Mary Margaret had started sniffling. “So we’ll have to come up with a slightly different color scheme than just straight up blue-seat blue.”  
  
Mary Margaret whimpered slightly, pulling up one hand to press her knuckles against her lips and her eyes were already inching towards the wrong side of puffy.

“How’d it happen, Em?” David asked, stepping back into the frame and slinging a supportive arm around Mary Margaret’s shoulder. “This was supposed to happen, like, weeks ago. It’s been the absolute worst.”  
  
“I apologize for the lateness of my engagement,” Emma grumbled.

David and Mary Margaret both yelled again, matching looks of _overjoyed_ on their face and Emma couldn’t wipe the tears away quickly enough, keeping one hand trained around her middle.

“Engaged,” Mary Margaret repeated in awe. “Is there a ring? Let me see the ring! Oh my God, I knew this was going to happen. I knew it!”

“Witch,” Emma accused and she couldn’t even work an ounce of venom into the word. She was too goddamn happy. “And it happened here. As mentioned. Two hours before puck drop.”  
  
“But you weren’t together last night!”   
  
“Wait, what?” David asked sharply. “Where’d you go last night, Em?”   
  
Emma blinked, smile falling off her face slightly when her jaw dropped and her two best friends in the entire world now bore startlingly similar looks of confusion. “Hold on a second,” she said slowly. “Did you guys not tell the other what you both already knew?”   
  
Mary Margaret shook her head. “But you guys tell each other everything,” Emma yelled. This conversation didn’t make any sense anymore. They needed to go point by point. They needed some kind of schedule.

She’d left the post-it notes in the hotel room.

“Yeah, well,” Mary Margaret muttered. “This was kind of your thing. And you deserved to tell Killian first. Oh my God, did you? You did right?”  
  
Emma’s heart felt like it stopped, slowing down to a level that absolutely could not have been healthy, before speeding up again and _that_ couldn’t have been healthy either. She nodded again and Mary Margaret sagged against David’s side.

“Deep breaths, Reese’s,” Emma said softly, but she couldn’t really hold her head up either.

Fuck, she was happy. Those words probably shouldn’t be used in the same sentence, but it had been an impossible few hours and she couldn’t quite get the memory of Killian’s face out of her memory – eyes wide and hopeful and so goddamn blue it wasn’t even fair – as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

Yes and _pregnant_ and Killian couldn’t seem to stop brushing his fingers across her side on the walk back to the locker room, palm wrapped around her waist and thumb tracing out tiny half-circles across the corner of her stomach like he was trying to make sure they _both_ knew he was there.

Both of them.

There was a both of them now.

And he’d pulled her up short before walking back into the locker room, tugging them into a corner and ignoring Emma’s grumblings that he was _going to get both of us_ in trouble. He’d kissed her instead, soft and meaningful and she could feel it in her toes, the trace of his tongue against her lip and that quiet sigh he let out when her fingers tugged on the front of his t-shirt.

“I love you,” Killian muttered, repeating the words like some kind of mantra every time he pulled away to take a breath.

“Yeah, I think I got that impression,” Emma laughed.

“Swan. I am being romantic, here. You’re ruining some really solid work.”  
  
She made a face, sticking her lower lip out tightly and gasping softly when Killian’s hand worked under her blazer, pressing against her stomach slightly. Her eyes went wide and he looked almost nervous, like he’d overstepped some unspoken line and they still didn’t really know. She should stop lying to herself like that.

It wasn’t healthy.

Not a good example for a mom.

“Ah, well, I apologize then,” she said softly. “And I think you’re doing a pretty good job. You know, romance wise.”  
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Absolutely,” Emma promised and it felt bigger than just talking about a moment in a hallway in South Korea. “You keep doing that, you know.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“A good job. Romance or otherwise. And, you can’t seem to keep your hands off me, Jones.”

He chuckled lightly, ducking his head to kiss her again quickly and her back collided almost painfully with the wall. Or it would have, probably, been painful if Emma wasn’t half convinced she was being held up by some invisible buoy of perpetual happiness.

“That’s because I keep trying to make sure you’re actually here,” Killian answered and the buoy jostled slightly by a sudden wave of guilt and, maybe, just a bit of nausea. He noticed – of course he noticed – and he was absolutely going to be stupid overprotective for the next nine months.

Or eight’ish.

She should see a doctor when they got hom.

“I really hated last night,” Emma said, forehead falling forward to rest on Killian’s chest. He didn’t move his hand, twisting his wrist to keep his palm flat on her stomach and his thumb sent a shockwave of _something_ down Emma’s spine. “I barely slept at all. As displayed by voicemails one through four and, just, a ridiculous amount of Googling.”

“I should have woken up,” Killian argued bitterly and Emma got the distinct impression he’d thought that more than once in the last few hours.

“That’s not your job. You don’t have to keep constant tabs on me.”  
  
“Yes it is.”   
  
He’d said it so easily, the words falling out of his mouth with the kind of conviction that didn’t really belong in a hallway and she’d tried to take a step back out of instinct. There was a wall in her way.

She couldn't move.

And the metaphor or the lesson or _whatever_ was so obvious, Emma nearly groaned right there in the middle of the hallway. That probably would have ruined the romance too.

“At least,” Killian corrected softly, rocking back on his heels until Emma moved her head and he ducked down into her eyeline. “I hope it is.”  
  
“You know,” Emma said slowly, trying to figure out the right words and she wasn’t good at this. Still. How was she supposed to combat sweeping proposals and promises that she’d _changed everything_ when she could barely think as soon as Killian Jones, her _fiancé_ , looked at her like she was the center of everything?

She huffed slightly and Killian looked at her incredulously, eyebrows twisted slightly, but he didn’t actually say anything. He waited for her – always.

“You did too,” Emma finished, groaning loudly when her head hit back up against the wall.

“What?” Killian asked and his eyebrows hadn’t moved. “Swan, stop jerking your head back, you’re going to give yourself a concussion.”  
  
“I’ve never had a concussion. I wouldn’t know the symptoms.”   
  
“I have. And that’s not helping. Now, come on, what are you thinking, love?”

She didn’t say what she was actually thinking – that she hoped he didn’t stop calling her _Swan_ after all of this, that even after rings and vows and a _kid_ , God, he’d still call her Swan and still stare at her like he wanted to make sure she was there.

That’s exactly what she should have said.

She just wasn’t very good at talking.

“I love you an absolutely ridiculous amount too you know,” Emma said and the words came out like a challenge. Killian grinned at her, smirk settling on his face as his eyebrows shot up his forehead.

“Yeah?” he asked, a note of amusement in the question that Emma wasn’t entirely sure she appreciated.

“Yeah. And you got your great, big romantic speech. So turnabout’s fair play or whatever. I love you and I am…” Emma took a deep breath, shoulders moving and, at some point, Killian had worked his left hand behind her head so she wouldn’t inadvertently concuss herself before a gold medal game she wasn’t playing in. “I want it to be real.”  
  
He narrowed his eyes slightly, confusion falling on his face, but it only took half a breath before he caught up. Turnabout and all that.

“What did you spend all night looking up, Swan?”  
  
He ran his thumb across the front of her dress – red and _American_ and nearly the same color as the one she’d worn during that party neither one of them had wanted to go to and maybe they should be writing all of these clichés down.

“He’s the size of a lentil,” Emma whispered. “And his face is starting to form, which is gross if you spend too much time thinking about it, so don’t because I did and that would explain my voice in voicemail number three.”  
  
Killian nodded slowly, lips slightly parted and his thumb had stopped moving entirely. He looked a little stunned. “Still with me, Cap?”   
  
He nodded again, letting out a shaky breath and then he was kissing her again. And if the moments on the walk back to the locker room had been decidedly in the realm of sweet and meaningful then these were a bit closer to desperate and needy, all lips and tongue and just a bit of teeth, crowding against each other until Emma could feel him in every inch of her, hips pressed against hips and they were both going to get fined for being late.

He pulled away from her only long enough to take a deep breath, ducking his head again and Emma could feel his smile against her mouth, could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Or maybe that was his.

“What else?” Killian asked and Emma would have bet a considerable amount of money that his eyes had gotten _bluer_ at some point.

“What?”

“Something else,” he said. “Tell me something else, Swan.”  
  
It was definitely her heartbeat echoing in her ears, like it was trying to prove this wasn’t some weird, fever dream she’d come up with when she inevitably contracted some kind of deadly disease from Will and Phillip’s room.

“Um,” she muttered, trying to remember the dozens of pages she’d scrolled through the night before, not quite able to fall asleep completely without Killian’s quiet breathing behind her. “His heart is beating really fast. Like double the speed of ours. More than hundred beats a minute or so some shoddy website claimed.”  
  
“A hundred,” Killian repeated, a stricken look on his face. “Is that healthy?”   
  
“Well, I mean he doesn’t have an entire body yet, so, I don’t know what you’re counting as particularly healthy.”   
  
He tilted his head meaningful, a reprimand without actually using the words and he’d turned it around again – she was, decidedly, charmed and she hadn’t really finished her side of the epic, romantic announcements.

“You keep doing that,” Killian said.

“Falling back on sarcasm out of habit?”  
  
“Swan,” he sighed, tugging on the front of her dress slightly and his lips landed on her forehead seemingly out of instinct. He didn’t say anything for at least several eternities and Emma’s pulse picked up again. It probably matched the lentil. “You keep saying _he_ ,” Killian whispered, mumbling the words against her hairline like he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her when he said it.

Oh. She had. And so had Will.

She hadn’t really noticed before, had just fallen into that particular decision as soon as Killian had given her a name in the backseat of the car and, well, that was that or something.

“Yeah,” Emma sighed, resting her own hand on top of Killian’s. There was yelling coming out of the locker room, chants of _USA_ and something that sounded like the ‘Hawks guy demanding to know _where Jones is, goddamnit_ and Emma licked her lips, once again struggling to find the right words.

“It could be a girl.”  
  
“It could be a whole lot of nothing if I don’t take a test,” Emma muttered and she did her best to keep the disappointment out of her voice. It didn’t work.

“Hey,” Killian said, tucking a slightly green left hand under her chin until they were almost eye-to-eye. “I want it to be real too.”  
  
Emma closed her eyes lightly, trying to will the moment in the deepest, darkest corners of her memories, the spots that had been occupied by a childhood marred with loneliness and being left behind and everything she’d never even allowed herself to think about having.

“Matthew,” she whispered, pressing up her toes so she could mutter the name against his jaw and he jerked back slightly when her lips pressed against his cheek.

“Yeah?”

“I like it. It’ll sound good on draft day.”  
  
“He might not play hockey, Swan.”   
  
“Please. He’ll be better than you.”

“I hope so,” Killian said and Emma swore she could _feel_ the words land in the pit of her stomach or maybe the back corner of her brain and saying her soul just felt almost _too_ cliché, but that might have been the most honest one.

She hoped so too.

Emma Swan - optimist.

“Jones,” a voice called from the doorway. Emma didn’t recognize the voice, could only just hear Will screaming something that sounded a lot like _leave them the fuck alone, he’ll be here in a second_. Killian rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, not looking away from Emma. “I’ll be there. Tell Ignis it’s fine.”

The voice didn’t say anything, just retreated back into the locker room and shouted back in Will’s direction.

“We should thank him or something,” Emma muttered.

“Swan, he’s the reason you didn’t sleep last night. And half the reason I’m convinced my blood pressure will never recover.”  
  
“You’re a professional hockey player, I don’t think you have anything to worry about when it comes to blood pressure.”   
  
“I’ve got to go.”   
  
“You should have gone an hour ago. You’ll barely have time to get dressed.”   
  
“Ah, well, it makes a good story to tell the kids.”   
  
“Are there more than one?” Emma asked and the tips of Killian’s ears were tinged red. She kissed his cheek again, fingers pushed into his hair until it was sticking up slightly and she needed to find the team suite or Ruby was never going to let her live this down.

“Just the one for now, love,” Killian said, pressing his hand forward slightly like he was proving his point.

She needed to find a South Korean pharmacy.

“Go,” she muttered, pushing on his shoulders. As if that would, somehow, get him to move.

Killian nodded again, smile etched on his face and he moved quicker than she was ready for, brushing his lips against hers before grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss against her palm and she’d never quite understand how she managed to stay upright when he held her own hand against her stomach, grinning at her like he’d never been happier in his entire goddamn life.

“I’ll see you post-game, Swan.”  
  
Emma blinked once and someone was shouting her name and she was back in a different hallway and the present, again, with a phone resting precariously on her thighs. “Jeez, are you alive?” Ruby yelled, sinking onto the floor next to her and Emma wasn’t sure she had an answer.

She’d forgotten about Mary Margaret and David on the phone, wrapped up in memories and whatever it was her face appeared to be doing still.

“You’ve still got that look on your face,” Ruby pointed out, reaching a finger up to tap against Emma’s jaw.

“We stopped even trying to get her to pay attention,” David muttered and Emma shot him a glare. “She just kind of drifted off in the middle of the conversation. We figured she was planning color schemes.”  
  
Ruby’s hand fell back to her side with all the force of an anvil falling off the side of a building. “What,” she snapped.

David blinked once. “You didn’t tell, Ruby?”  
  
“It happened, literally, two hours ago,” Emma argued. “Well, more like three now, I guess. Is the second period over?”   
  
“God, Emma did you time travel or something? The second’s almost over. Still tied.”   
  
Ruby didn’t look impressed by anything that had to do with the game, swatting at Emma’s shoulder until she turned her head towards her. “I thought you told him,” she yelled. Emma winced. “You were supposed to tell him today! I figured you told him about mini-Jones and that was the reason for the look on your face.”   
  
David dropped the phone. “What?” he yelled and Mary Margaret had dissolved into hysterics.

“Reese’s, please,” Emma pleaded. “Ok, enough with the multiple conversations. We’re doing this once and then no more. Got it?” Three heads nodded in agreement and Emma tried to pull on some kind of word-speaking determination she wasn’t sure she had. “Your stupid set-up paid off, all of you overly interfering idiots, because not only are Killian and I engaged, but, well, I think I’m pregnant.”

Mary Margaret was inching closer to the realm of sobbing and even Ruby looked like she’d just gotten the greatest media scoop in the world, but Emma’s eyes flashed to David – some kind of unspoken hope for understanding or support and she didn’t get it, at least not the way Emma expected.

She got it tenfold, a quiet smile that looked halfway torn between stunned and overwhelmed and his eyes were just a bit glossy when he let out a breathless _Em_ on the other side of the world.

“I don’t know about the second one for sure though,” she said quickly, a caveat that didn’t really need to be there, but she was still _Emma_ and still cautious and absolutely terrified of how absolutely hopeful she was.

“We’re pretty sure though,” Mary Margaret added.

“Wait,” David shouting, twisting on the couch and nearly dropping the phone again. “You knew? When?”  
  
“That’s a very long story,” Emma muttered at the same time Mary Margaret said, “You knew Killian wanted to propose.”   
  
“Can we stop having four different conversations, please?” Emma pleaded, squeezing her eyes closed as the second period buzzer went off. “We are trying to stay in the area of positive for his existence, but we’re not jinxing anything.”   
  
“His,” David repeated and the quiet smile was practically a flashing neon sign in Times Square now.

Emma shrugged. “Maybe.”  
  
Ruby rolled her eyes, groaning as she stood back up and Emma hadn’t noticed there was a bag slung over her shoulder. “Alright,” she said, a note of authority in her voice that left little room for argument. She’d taken over the situation. “No more multiple conversations and no more maybes for possibly-boy, mini-Jones. We’re not doing this for another period of hockey game.”   
  
“What?” Emma sputtered, arm tightening around her waist out of instinct.

Ruby shrugged the bag off her shoulder, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor as David and Mary Margaret both demanded to see _what was going on_. Emma leaned forward with the phone clutched tightly in her hand and Ruby pressed a box under her nose.

A pregnancy test.

“Who wants to find out if we’ve got a first-rounder on our hands?” she asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary Margaret didn't spill the secret! And neither did David! And Killian's goal celebration is definitely Chris Kreider's goal celebration because I am nothing if not consistent. 
> 
> As always @laurenorder makes this story better. Come flail on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	11. Chapter 11

Emma could practically _feel_ the blood rush out of her face, eyes going wide, and it was a good thing she was already sitting down because she wasn’t quite certain her legs could support her weight anymore.

“When did you do that?” she hissed and Ruby shrugged apologetically.

“Like a day after I figured it out.” Mary Margaret made a noise at _that_ , a quiet huff that earned her an eye roll from Ruby and an _I’m with her all the time M’s, she’s practically radiating clich_ _é_ _symptoms_. “Anyway,” Ruby continued. “I went out and I bought it and it required me to learn how to say _pregnant_ in Korean.”  
  
She shook the box in front of Emma’s face, the sound of whatever was inside rattling against cardboard and it sounded like a boulder.

Emma couldn't remember the last time she’d breathed.

Ruby smiled at her – something that looked a bit more understanding than Emma could remember seeing on her face – and crouched in front of her, dropping the box on the floor. “And,” she added. “This might be an apology of sorts.”  
  
“An apology,” Emma repeated.

“Yeah, you know, of sorts. A retraction, if you will.”  
  
“You spend too much time working.”  
  
“Em, you were working so much you couldn’t find time to tell your boyfriend that you were, maybe, pregnant.”  
  
“Fiancé,” Mary Margaret shouted and Ruby nodded solemnly.

“Ah, yeah, right. Fiancé,” she agreed, glancing down at Emma’s bare left hand and letting out a quiet groan. “Hey, where’s your ring?”

“Apparently two hours away,” Emma said.

Ruby collapsed on her heels, practically howling with laughter as she threw her head back. “Oh my God,” she muttered, brushing her hair out of her eyes when the red highlights worked their way across her face. “Did he just shout a proposal in your face? I knew he was going to do that. Something about pent up energy and frustration. Ah, well, at least he didn’t hit it out. That would have screwed us all over.”  
  
“This apology is not really going the way I think you wanted it to, Ruby,” Emma chastised. “And there was no shouting on either side. Although this whole team is pretty stupid.”  
  
“Oh, you’ll get no argument from me there. Let’s, uh, let’s circle back to the apology then.”

Emma waited patiently – or as patiently as someone could wait with a pregnancy test sitting a few inches away and the sounds of a gold medal hockey game working their way into her ears. Ruby sighed. And then sighed again. And glanced hopefully at the screen – no doubt looking for back-up from Mary Margaret, who just shook her head.

“Ruby, you know, this apology is kind of lacking the apology part,” David muttered after a few more minutes of silence. He grunted when Mary Margaret elbowed him in the side. “What? I’m just saying.”  
  
“No, no, he’s right,” Ruby admitted, taking one more deep breath as she grabbed the cardboard box in front of her. “I’m sorry, Em. For being an ass about all of this and for totally knowing that Cap had a ring and that the whole lot of us had interrupted him, like, half a dozen times. And for the internet. Just, you know, collectively.”  
  
“Wait, what?” Emma sputtered. “The internet was involved somehow? I thought that was just whatever post Ariel sent to all of you.”  
  
“Yeah, but we thought that was a joke. This was Reddit and other Twitter rumors and someone saw Cap buy the ring a million years ago and I don’t know why it took so long to get out, but I guess no one has anything better to do on the Olympic break then try and figure out whether or not you and Cap are getting married.”  
  
“How did I not know about this?”  
  
“Because I’m absolutely fantastic at my job. And because I got to Booth before the reporters did and told him that if he answered that one, particular question I’d strangle him with his own stick.”  
  
“How does that work?” Emma asked. “You know, physically. Wouldn’t the stick just break?”  
  
“I’ll admit I wasn’t thinking too much about the logistics of the threat, just that he understood it. He did.”  
  
Mary Margaret had started to cry again, ducking out of the frame and Emma chanced a look at David who, it appeared, was coming up with several ways to destroy August Booth with his own equipment as well.

And Emma wasn’t sure if she got to blame hormones yet – she should probably take the fucking test first – but she could feel the tears on her own face as well and Ruby kept smiling at her like she was close to just dissolving into some kind emotional puddle.

None of them seemed to know what to say next – eyes darting around respective surroundings with only the noise of the game working its way through down the hallway and through the loft in New York.

Ruby, of course, was the first one to talk, only opening her mouth after she wiped away the tears she’d never actually admit to crying, leaving red marks in her wake. “I’m sorry we all fucked it up for you, Em,” she said. “That wasn’t...we weren’t trying to do that. And maybe let Cap know I’m sorry for that string of text messages I left on his phone this morning.”  
  
“What text messages?” Emma asked, arching one eyebrow. Ruby made a face.

“Ah, he didn’t mention that, huh?”  
  
“We were kind of busy.”

“Oh God, Em, don’t talk about that,” David groaned and she rolled her eyes, reaching forward to grab the test that was still sitting in the middle of the floor.

They were a picture of professional responsibility.

“Your hearts were, probably, in the right places,” Emma admitted, trying to decipher a single English word on the box. There wasn’t one. “But if any of you do this again or act like idiots again, I will personally attack each and every one of you with several different hockey sticks. Deal?”  
She held out her free hand in the space in front of her, waving her fingers when Ruby stared at it. “Deal?” Emma repeated.

Ruby nodded slowly, and the smile was, almost back to normal, looking a bit like she was _plotting_ something. She was probably trying to come up with color schemes she’d approve of more than Rangers blue.

“Deal,” Ruby agreed, shaking Emma’s hand and nodding towards the box. “So, you wanna do this or nah?”

Emma blinked, glancing back at the phone and Mary Margaret’s encouraging smile. She nodded once and Emma felt her nerves settle almost immediately, breathing coming a bit easier and she _wanted_ this.

_Matthew Jones._

God, she wanted Matthew Jones.

“Ok,” Emma said softly and she thought she heard Mary Margaret make a noise. She couldn’t really see, far too busy squeezing her eyes closed and hoping against some kind of impossible hope that the world would just let her have this.

Ruby beamed at her, jumping to her feet and thrusting her hand out towards Emma to pull her up. “So, how do we do this?”  
  
“Rubes, you bought the test,” Emma pointed out.  
  
“Yeah, but it’s not like they gave me a play-by-play of the rules. I could barely even get the words _pregnancy test_ out of my mouth without somehow fucking up the pronunciation. You know how hard it is to say those words?”  
  
“I do not.”  
  
Ruby grumbled, but she was still smiling and Emma couldn’t find it in herself to be nervous. That was a change of pace.

It probably had something to do with how goddamn happy she was.

Or maybe how exhausted.

The second one was less romantic.

“I mean, it can’t be that hard, right?” Emma reasoned, shrugging slightly. She wasn’t nervous, wasn’t really all that worried, was ninety-five percent certain the test, even in Korean, would tell her exactly what she already knew, but her eyes kept darting to Mary Margaret and that smile on her face and Emma wished, not for the first time, that she was home.

“I’d imagine you just pee on it,” Ruby said. David moaned, grabbing a pillow and pressing his face into it with all the dramatics of an actual father.

“David,” Mary Margaret sighed. “Come on, you’re going to freak her out.”  
  
Emma made a contradictory noise in the back of her throat, David’s eyes barely visible over the top of the pillow. “No, he’s not,” she argued. Three sets of disbelieving eyes turned towards her and Emma felt her face flush slightly. “For real this time. This is...well, this is good. The best. Actually.”  
  
Ruby’s laugh seemed to echo off the walls – some kind of deep-rooted excitement that would probably linger in the back of Emma’s mind for the rest of her life and Mary Margaret bit her lip tightly, eyes glossy as she dropped back into the corner of her couch.

“Man, M’s, we did good here,” Ruby muttered and Mary Margaret hummed in agreement. “Em, make sure you tell mini-Jones about how Mary Margaret and I made all of this happen.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Emma sighed. The end of the box was crushed in her hand. And they needed to find a bathroom – they probably shouldn’t use the team suite bathroom. This was good, the best and a whole slew of other adjectives, but she wasn’t quite ready to share it yet.

The internet did not need to find about Matthew Jones.

Or Ruby would probably destroy all of it.

“If you guys are done with the _told you so’s_ , then we should probably do this before the end of the game,” Emma said, nodding in the direction of a sign and, maybe, a bathroom and a few answers.

“We’re just reveling in our victory,” Ruby argued. “This is, like, our version of a gold medal game.”  
  
“You realize how weird that is?”  
  
“Eh, pick a good color scheme and I won’t mention it again or tell mini-Jones how I totally got his parents to fall in love.”  
  
Emma didn’t even bother answering, just marched down the hallway, a cardboard box in one hand and her phone in the other, David’s voice the only thing she could hear over the sound of Ruby’s heels following her.

“Should I be here for this?” David asked, embarrassment coloring his words when they made their way into the bathroom. Ruby tugged the door shut behind her, pushing a garbage can in front of it, muttering something about privacy and the internet.

“Well, to be fair David, you’re not actually here,” Emma said as she ripped apart the box. “Technically.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s not what I meant.”  
  
“Don’t listen to him, Em,” Ruby interrupted. “Come on, David, shut up. We’re doing this and if you hang up on this phone call M’s is absolutely going to divorce you, so, you know, take that into account. She can’t miss her kid having a kid.”  
  
“Ok, that’s not even remotely true,” Mary Margaret argued. “I wouldn't go so far as divorce. But if you touch that phone, David Nolan, you can start asking Emma for tips on how to sleep consistently on this couch.”

David scoffed and Emma grinned to herself, tugging the door to the stall closed. “You can’t,” she shouted. “That’s how you sleep on that couch.”  
  
It was a weird thing – and years later when she stopped to think about the moment she, actually, positively, found out she was pregnant, Emma would never be able to quite suppress the smile that came with the memory, that tiny girl that no one one wanted, who never thought she’d have anything, surrounded by her friends when she discovered she had a family.

They were, easily, the longest three minutes of Emma’s entire life.

She couldn’t stop moving, pacing out a tiny square in the bathroom while Ruby perched on the edge of the sink, muttering under her breath with Mary Margaret.

“What do you think, Em?” she asked and Emma nearly tripped over her own feet.

“About?”  
  
“Weren’t you listening?”  
  
“No, of course not.”  
  
“Ok, rude,” Ruby mumbled. “Although also I guess you can have a pass when you’re whole life’s about to change. But before we deal with mini-Jones, answer me one question, ok?”  
  
“Yeah,” Emma said cautiously, dragging out the word until it sounded like twenty syllables.

“When you and Cap get married, do you think you can cut down on the appetizers during the reception, because M’s dozen was just kind of absurd.”  
  
Mary Margaret made an indignant noise in New York, stuttering over words before just settling on shouting the word _choice_ over and over again. Emma stopped pacing, letting out a shaky laugh as she tugged on the ring around her neck.

“There were options,” Mary Margaret yelled. “And everyone liked them.”  
  
“Yeah,” Emma muttered, leaning her head into the frame on the phone. “Because we all lived off the appetizers for the next week.”  
  
Mary Margaret opened her mouth, no doubt to talk about how Emma used those leftovers because she refused to properly stock a fridge on a consistent basis, but she never got a chance.

The timer went off.

Emma huffed out the air she hadn’t realized she was holding, pulling her lips back behind her teeth and she'd never actually put the test down, gripping the stupid piece of plastic in her hand the entire time she’d been pacing.

“Em,” Ruby encouraged softly, nodding towards the test and Mary Margaret was smiling again.

“Go ahead, kid,” David added. And Emma felt frozen, a statue in the middle of the bathroom in the middle of the arena in the middle of goddamn fucking South Korea. “It’s going to be fine.”  
  
She nodded stiffly. It would. It would be fine. No matter what happened. They’d get married –  _married_ – and they’d have a future and, well, there was no reason they couldn’t just keep trying for Matthew Jones if this didn’t happen the way she thought it would.

The way she wanted it to.

God, she wanted it to.

“Should we count down or something?” Ruby asked. “You know, ease into the reveal.”  
  
“Yeah,” Emma agreed. “Yeah, yeah, ok. You start, Rubes.”  
  
She reached forward to grab Emma’s free hand before she spoke, lacing their fingers together and squeezing tightly. “Four.”  
  
“Three,” David muttered.

Mary Margaret had to wipe her eyes before she could follow up. “Two.”  
  
“One,” Emma whispered, bending her head and her knees buckled when she looked down. That word was in English. Figured.

_Pregnant._

“Oh,” she said, sighing out the letters as felt the smile spread across her face and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She wasn’t sure if someone had actually asked her, but Emma was nodding before she could stop herself, vision blurring when the tears fell.

A kid.

They were going to have a kid.

They’d have to buy a new jersey.

“Matthew?” Mary Margaret whispered, so quiet Emma wasn’t sure if she’d meant to actually ask. It didn’t matter – her stomach flipped anyway, the sound of the name filling every single corner of her until it felt like she was going to actually collapse into a heap of happiness and family and that probably wouldn’t have been good for the baby.

“Matthew,” Emma said and it sounded like a promise.

There wasn’t any noise in the bathroom except for their respective sniffles and breathing and Emma’s head jerked up when she heard the sound of Doc Emerick’s voice in New York. He was yelling.

And she could barely make out the noise of the crowd outside.

“What happened?” Emma asked sharply, meeting David’s slightly stunned gaze on the screen. Her phone bill was going to be astronomical.

“He scored,” David answered, a note of wonder in his voice.  
  
Emma’s heart had pounded out of body, she was convinced. And she didn’t really need to ask, but she did anyway, a bit desperate for confirmation of everything now. “Who? Words, David.”  
  
“Killian scored again. God, Em, he stick handled through all of Canada.”  
  
“All of it, that’s impressive,” Ruby muttered.

“We’re winning.”  
  
She should probably thank the world at some point. And Emma did her best to not immediately think about what would go wrong to make up for everything that had been going right. Optimism was a definite work in progress.

“How much time?” Emma asked and David blinked at her sudden return to work mode.

“Uh, five minutes. Two-one, good guys.”  
  
“We should probably get down there,” she said, nodding in Ruby’s direction. “Get ready for video when we win.”  
  
“And get you out on the ice so you can tell Cap you’re totally going to have his kid,” Ruby added knowingly.

“It’s not like he didn’t know.”  
  
“Don’t actually show him the test on the ice, that’s weird.”  
  
“Ok, I didn’t even think about that until you just said it. What do I do with it though? Just throw it away?”  
  
Ruby shrugged. “I’m not in the habit of taking random pregnancy tests. You should probably throw it away. And not just because it’s, you know, it, but because you don’t want someone seeing that box sticking out of a bag.”  
  
“Ruby Lucas, defender of mini-Jones and his internet presence,” David mumbled and she shrugged again.

“Thank you,” Emma said seriously, piling paper towels on the top of the garbage in some attempt to hide everything. She wasn’t really sure it worked.

“I’ve absolutely got a new favorite Jones,” Ruby said.

Emma laughed, glancing back towards the screen and New York and the looks on Mary Margaret and David’s face were nothing short of _proud_ , some kind of not-quite-parental emotion that she’d probably never be able to entirely pay back.

“I love you guys,” Emma said simply.

“We love you too,” Mary Margaret promised, tapping her phone on the screen like she could reach through to South Korea. “Call us back after the game, ok? Or at least send a photo of your ring.”  
  
“Priorities.”  
  
“I haven’t even started talking appetizers yet.”

Emma nodded, stuffing her phone in her pocket when David hung up and they practically sprinted down the stairs, running through the hallway on the bottom floor of the arena to skid to a stop in front of the zamboni entrance in the boards.

There was less than a minute left – Canada’s goalie on the bench and an extra skater on the ice against the Rangers line. The good guys were still winning.

Emma could picture it already, the smile on his face and her face and she didn’t care if they ended up on Page Six every day for the next week, she was going to kiss her fiancé on the ice as soon as he won a gold medal.

Only she couldn’t do that when they weren’t winning.

And, suddenly, they weren’t winning.

It was a bad goal, a shot John Blues, or whatever his name was, absolutely should have saved and Emma almost believed she could actually hear Killian cursing a few feet in front of her.

That might have just been her.

It was a bad goal and it came off a move she recognized, a quick wrist shot that slid in five hole and Emma didn’t even have to look at the name on the back of the jersey to know who scored.

Humbert.

“God damn,” Ruby muttered, kicking the toe of her shoe into the floor.

They were going to overtime.

* * *

“Shit,” Will grumbled, struggling to keep his balance on his skates when he kicked at the front of his locker.

“Calm down, Scarlet,” Killian said and Will tried to kick at him. “Ok, seriously, you’re going to cut my leg if you do that.”  
  
“My skates aren’t that sharp.”  
  
“That seems like a totally different problem.”

“It’s these Olympics equipment people. They’re awful at their jobs. I mean, not John Blues awful at his job, but you know.”  
  
Killian widened his eyes meaningfully when John Blues – or whatever his name actually was, it was absolutely on the back of his jersey – walked by, holding two distinct pieces of stick in his hands. He’d snapped his stick in half.

“Well,” Robin muttered. “Someone’s kind of pissed off.”  
  
“He should be,” Killian said. “That was a shit goal. Humbert never even should have gotten the lane, let alone enough room in front of the net to shoot.”  
  
“Check you out, coach.”  
  
Killian rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Locksley.”  
  
Robin hummed, making a face as he tossed his helmet at his feet. “Eh, OT just gives you another chance to score. Although I don’t know who you’re going to score in honor of on a hat trick. Rol and Henry will probably have to duel for it or something.”  
  
Will let out a strangled sound, elbow falling off his knee when he tried to turn his laughter into something else. Robin stared at him like he’d suddenly been replaced with another human being and Killian shot him a cautious look, eyes wide and lips set in a straight line.

Will stared at the ceiling.

“What am I missing?” Robin asked, lowering his voice when the ‘Hawks guy started talking strategy like there was any other strategy besides _get the puck in the fucking net_.

“Nothing,” Killian and Will said at the same time and if they were going for inconspicuous they’d failed on both account.

“And I thought Henry and Rol were sitting in some team suite upstairs,” Robin chuckled. The ‘Hawks guy glared at them.

Killian shifted on the bench in front of his locker and he was probably doing damage to his own skates as well, digging the front of the blade into the floor. He could feel Robin staring at him, eyes boring a hole into the side of his head, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if both Locksley and Scarlet were having some conversation over the top of him.

The ‘Hawks coach was still talking – drawing up plays off the faceoff and muttering something about Booth keeping his stick on the ice and Killian’s head snapped up when he heard his name.

Will laughed again when his skate slid out in front of him, knocking over the stick he’d propped up next to him and Killian didn’t even bother glaring at him. Robin still looked vaguely confused.

And Killian was fairly certain he’d seen Emma and Ruby behind the boards when Humbert scored. Shit. She’d probably have to do even more work now.

They should have won in regulation.

And maybe bought some kind of test.

There wasn’t enough time.

That seemed like some kind of incredibly frustrating theme.

“Cap,” Robin muttered, jabbing Killian with the handle of his stick. “He’s still talking to you.”  
  
The ‘Hawks guy wasn’t just talking – he was glaring at him, arms crossed tightly over his button-up and Killian could just barely make out the pin of the Chicago mascot on the lapel of his blazer.

“Yeah,” he said, voice scratchy and his mind was only half in the locker room. The rest of it was decidedly, not, in the locker room – it was back in the media room and the hallway and, maybe eventually, a hotel room two hours away and all Killian really wanted was to see the ring on Emma’s finger.

And maybe win a gold medal.

“Jones,” ‘Hawks guy snapped, taking a step forward in a move that was probably supposed to be threatening.

“Still here.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Robin mumbled and Killian shrugged slightly, not taking his eyes away from the coach in front of him.

Killian tugged his gloves off, dropping them next to his helmet and his stick and ‘Hawks guy appeared to be frozen in front of him, some kind of coach-like statue with a glare etched on his face that would make even Regina blink.

“We’ve got to get back on the ice eventually, Ignis,” Killian said. “NBC is going to be mad if we fuck up their broadcasting schedule.”  
  
Robin looked like he was going to actually discipline Killian, a stricken look on his face, and even Will looked a bit surprised by whatever game he seemed to be playing. Killian wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing – mostly that he was impatient and anxious and he had half an idea about who that third goal would be for if he managed to do it.

“Don’t make me pull you off your line, Jones,” Ignis snarled, expression finally shifting as he narrowed his eyes at Killian.

“I scored both of the goals this game.”  
  
“Exactly, which is why I don’t even want you shooting once we get into extras.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Will scoffed loudly, not even bothering to try to alter the sound, and Killian appreciated that Robin had directed his disbelief away from him. “But what if he’s open?” Robin challenged. “He’s been wide open all game. Canada can’t slow him down.”  
  
“And you don’t think that’s going to change once we get back out there?” Ignis argued. “That they haven’t spent all of intermission planning for that?”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”  
  
“It’s not like I’m going to suddenly get slower,” Killian said and Will hummed in an agreement, sitting up a bit straighter like he was getting ready to punch something.

Ignis didn’t look impressed. “So be fast by skating into the zone and keeping the puck there and then we’ll get new lines on and take them by surprise.”  
  
“All of Canada?”  
  
“I’m serious, Jones,” Ignis hissed. “I do not want you trying to play hero out there. They’re going to try and double you.”  
  
“I retract my previous statement,” Robin mumbled. “They can’t double, Cap. They can’t even keep up with him! And if they do, one of us is going to be open. That’s just how math works.”

Will was going to get himself benched if he kept laughing. Killian waved them both off – something cliche about _team_ and _family_ rattling around in the back of his head. And he was smiling before he could stop himself, mind racing back to Emma and his hand on her stomach and he hoped Matthew Jones existed if only so Matthew Jones could have eyes that looked like Emma’s whenever she got excited about something.

“This isn’t a joke, Jones,” Ignis continued, stepping into Killian’s space until their knees were nearly brushing. “They’re going to game plan for you. That’s what I would do.”

Killian nodded slowly, smile still on his face when he glanced back up. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m going to score another fucking goal.”  
  
John Blues laughed.

And that was the last thing anyone in that entire locker room expected.

He walked across the space – a bit more imposing than usual since he hadn’t actually taken his mask off yet – and moved in between Killian and Ignis, stepping in between them and turning on the lockers to stare at the ‘Hawks coach like he was nothing more than a passing frustration.

“You’re an idiot,” he said simply. “That’s why they haven’t won a Cup in Chicago since you got there.”

Killian barked out a laugh, hand raking through his hair to try and keep up with the speed of his thoughts and he hadn’t been entirely prepared for Central Division rivalries to rear their heads in South Korea, but it had been that kind of day and he kind of wished he’d blown off the entire, stupid game so they could find some kind of pharmacy.  
  
He wanted that more than he’d wanted just about anything else – and he’d wanted a lot already, all of it with Emma.

Ignis made a dismissive noise, taking a step away from Allen, his name was definitely Allen, and shaking his head. “If you guys want to be idiots, then fine by me,” he muttered. “It’s not my reputation on the line here.”  
  
“Actually,” Robin corrected, standing up and every head in the room spun at the sound of his voice. _Dad voice_. “It absolutely is. And if you want your reputation to not get entirely fucked, then I’d keep all of us on the ice together. Cap’s not just going to shoot whenever he gets the goddamn puck, he’s going to score and we’re going to win. There’s nobody on this entire team who knows how to play better than Cap, so it’s probably best if you just sit down.”  
  
Ignis blinked once and Killian had stopped smiling at some point, mouth dropping open in surprise.

That was stupid.

He shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Calm down, Dad,” Killian muttered, resting a hand on Robin’s shoulders and he felt him exhale loudly.

Will muttered something under his breath and Allen still hadn’t moved – glancing over his shoulder at the Rangers first line with a brand-new determination settling on his face. “Sorry about that goal,” he said. “That was shit.”  
  
“Yeah, it was,” Killian agreed. “We’ll get it back now though.”  
  
“Super motivational speech, Cap,” Will laughed, knocking his shoulder against Killian’s. “That was real good. I’m absolutely ready to go represent America now.”  
  
“Ok, come on. Locksley stole all the thunder anyway.”  
  
“Ah, well, theme of the Olympics or whatever.”  
  
Killian shrugged, ignoring the look of confusion that had returned to Robin’s face, eyes darting between him and Scarlet like he was trying to put together the pieces of a puzzle he’d never seen before. “What’s happening right now?” he asked. “The truth this time.”  
  
“Nothing,” Killian answered, but he barely got the word before Allen turned on them, tugging his helmet up to rest on his forehead.

“Hey, uh, congratulations by the way,” Allen said, grinning at the three of them expectantly.

“What?”  
  
Allen blinked twice, pulling his helmet off all the way and shaking his hair off his forehead. “Uh,” he stammered. “I just heard, a couple days ago, there was some story out there. I think Lucas put some kind of stop to it, but it was there and uh...is that not true?”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Killian said, doing his best to keep his voice even while his stomach crept into his throat. Will shifted next to him, glaring daggers at Allen and Robin mumbled _oh shit_ under his breath.

“Man, Lucas is good at her job,” Allen said, a note of _impressed_ in his voice and Killian almost groaned when he understood, a bit disappointed it even took him that long to get there.

“Oh, this is about whatever Red sent isn’t it?” he asked, staring at Will who just held his hands up. “Jeez, we need to find her a hobby.”  
  
“She’ll be busy once she actually has the kid,” Will reasoned. Allen kept shifting back and forth on his skates, looking incredibly out of place in the group of Rangers first-liners and nicknames and a bored athletic trainer on Long Island.

“So, uh,” Allen continued. “Not true then? That’d explain why Lucas was so pissed at Booth.”

Killian nearly fell over, head snapping around so quickly he had to throw his hand out to grip Will’s shoulder. “What?” he repeated. “What does Booth have to do with anything?”  
  
“It’s not a big deal, Cap,” Robin promised. “There was the thing and Red’s bored and, somehow, someone over here saw it and they were trying to ask Booth about it a couple of days ago. Lucas took care of it before he could say anything, threatened him within an inch of his life and then walked away with a smile on his face. I mean, it’s not true anyway. I don’t know why anyone was even looking at subReddits.”  
  
Robin laughed, sounding as if it were the most ridiculous idea in the world, and even Allen chuckled softly, doing his best to look like he belonged in the conversation.

Killian couldn’t move.

He didn’t notice the noise at first – the sounds of the team moving out of the locker room nearly drowning it out completely and it wasn’t until Allen nodded in the direction of Killian’s locker that he could actually hear it.

“Is that your phone?” Allen asked and Killian didn’t even bothering answering, just turned on his skates and did his best not to trip over his own feet when he moved.

And if his stomach had made its way into his throat before, then his heart had joined as well, pulse pounding in his ears with the absolute certainty that only one person would be trying to text him a few minutes before overtime of a gold medal game.

It was a string of messages, each one a little less coherent than the one before and he knew she’d been walking while she’d been typing.

He tried not to worry about that.

She was totally right – he was going to be _stupid worried_ this entire time.

**That goal was awful. Tell John whatever we said we both hated that goal. Even if that is Humbert’s thing. Didn’t ‘Hawks guy watch tape before you guys got there?**

**Oh, you’re probably in the locker room. I didn’t even think about that. Jeez.**

**I hope ‘Hawks guy isn’t an ass if he hears your phone go off. If he takes you off that line, I’ll beat him up myself.**

**That’s kind of aggressive. That’s not really the best start for all of this.**

His whole body felt heavy – far too heavy to stay standing upright and Killian collapsed back onto the bench, barely holding onto his phone. He could feel the questioning stares on him, but he was more focused on trying to remember how to breathe and he wasn’t entirely certain Emma had meant to write what she had.

_The best start._

_The best start for all of this._

_This._

_Matthew Jones_.

“Cap,” Robin said slowly, taking a step towards him until Killian could make out his skates in front of him. He’d fallen forward at some point, body twisted in half with his mouth half-hanging open and Will’s laugh ringing in his ears. “The truth now, Cap. Seriously.”  
  
Killian shook his head, not sure he could actually put words to the truth or what exactly the truth was, when his phone buzzed in his hand again.

It wasn’t a message. It was a picture.

He might have sighed or mumbled a string of curses, not quite sure _that_ was the best start for all of this, but it didn’t really matter.

He couldn’t stop staring at the photo on his phone.

It was clothing. A onesie. That was the word for it. A onesie with Olympic rings on it and _Future Olympian_ emblazoned across the front and it was so goddamn _small_ Killian was fairly certain he could crumple the whole thing up and fit it in one fist.

If he could make a fist.

His left hand was still kind of green.

“What the fuck is going on right now?” Robin snapped, turning on Will when Killian didn’t answer his question quickly enough.

Killian still didn’t move, blinking quickly so he didn’t start breaking down in the middle of the locker room and that would absolutely get him kicked off his line. His heart felt too small and too big all at the same time, beating out quickly like it was trying to match up with a lentil-sized baby that was somewhere in that arena.

Robin had started pacing, shooting increasingly more detailed threats at Will if he didn’t _explain what the fuck is happening with Cap’s face_ and Killian ran his hand through his hair again, tugging on the back tightly to make sure this wasn’t some kind of dream.

It wasn’t.

His phone vibrated again.

**We should probably make a doctor’s appointment at some point.**

Killian dropped his phone, not quite able to retain feeling in his fingers when all the blood seemed to rush to his head and he fell forward even more, nearly resting his forehead on his knees.

Will nearly jumped at him, making it back in front of his locker in one elongated stride and the worry on his face nearly made Killian laugh. Or maybe it did. He’d kind of lost control of his whole body.

“Emma?” he asked knowingly and Killian nodded, vision blurring just a bit as Will’s smile took up three quarters of his face. “Oh shit, is everything....”  
  
Killian didn’t even give him a chance to finish the question, just leaned forward to grab his phone off the ground and push it in Will’s hand. And then he dropped it. He’d probably have to buy a new phone.

“Oh shit,” Will repeated. “God where’d she even find that? Weren’t they in a team suite?” Killian shrugged, not willing to give thought to how or why just that it _was_ and he wanted to get on the ice only so he could get off the ice.

“If someone does not explain what is happening right now, I’m going to check both of you into the boards at the same time and I’m going to enjoy it and then I’m going to make sure that Henry and Rol sing the goddamn national anthem straight at you for the entire flight home,” Robin shouted, crossing his arms so his jersey twisted up in front of him.

“Dad voice,” Killian mumbled, glancing at Will.

“Ah, yeah, but that’s kind of your thing now, right?”  
  
Robin’s eyes widened and his jaw had joined Killian’s phone on the floor. “What?” he whispered, sounding a bit like he’d just been told they’d already won a gold medal.

Will tossed him the phone and Killian barely had time to comment on his hand-eye coordination before Robin was walking towards him clasping him on the shoulder.

“I’d like to renegotiate the terms of our bet,” Killian said and he was probably going to smile for the rest of his life. “Or at least take my winnings.”  
  
Robin laughed loudly, eyes not leaving the screen. “You were supposed to ask in the first week, Cap.”  
  
“Yeah, well you guys all fucked that up. And I think we just blew engagement out of the water, don’t you? Although we did that too.”  
  
Robin jerked his head back up, breathing loudly out of his mouth and Will sank down on the bench next to Killian, pushing him to the side so there was enough room. “No claiming mini-Jones as your own, either Locksley,” Will said seriously. “He’s already going to hang out with me. We’ve all already decided.”  
  
“No one has decided that,” Killian argued, meeting Robin’s gaze and doing his best to pour some kind of unspoken emotion into the look. It wasn’t easy – how do you thank someone for dealing with your shit for the better part of the last nine years and forcing you to go to a restaurant and, maybe, show you what a father was supposed to look like?

He couldn’t say that out loud.

He didn’t have to.

“He?” Robin asked, lifting his eyebrows slightly.

Killian shrugged. “A feeling. Maybe.”  
  
“Yuh huh. Ah, well, Rol could use a little brother. Let him show mini-Jones how to skate.”

“Jumping right into sentiment, huh, Locksley?” Will muttered, tugging the phone out of Robin’s hand to glance down at the piece of fabric on the screen and the three of them must have painted a very strange picture.

Robin hummed in agreement, pressing his lips together like he was trying to stop himself from laughing again. “Alright,” he said. “New bet. Before we all get benched because we missed puck drop in a gold medal game.”  
  
“Terms?” Killian asked, half certain he knew exactly where this was going already.

“Mini-Jones goes in the first round in….what year would that be?”  
  
“2038,” Will answered immediately and Killian glanced questioningly at him. He shrugged. “I had some time to kill sitting outside the door last night. I’ve half planned his whole life. I’m totally going to be his favorite.”

“Alright,” Robin interrupted, cutting off Will before he could break down his entire plan for Matthew Jones. “So 2038, mini-Jones, fresh off some sort of fantastic college career, goes in the first round of the draft. Drafted by us. Obviously. But! Where does mini-Jones stage this fantastic college career? Minnesota or the much better and more historic Wisconsin?”

“You want to bet alma maters?” Killian asked. “On my kid?”

Huh, that was an interesting sentence. He liked it.

Robin nodded. “Absolutely. The engagement thing’s a wash because we totally fucked it up for you, but this is some kind of clean slate. So, what do you say, Cap? We got a deal? He goes to Minnesota or Wisconsin and whoever loses owes the other one...something. To be determined later.”  
  
“Later?”  
  
“We should probably finish this game first.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Killian agreed. “Alright. Deal.”  
  
He threw his hand out in front of him and Robin took it without question, shaking it once while Will promised he was going to be the favorite – again.

“You better score again too,” Robin added, tugging Killian back up onto his feet and pushing him out of the locker room.

Killian nodded, taking a deep breath as soon as his skates hit ice. He was going to win this game.

* * *

It was a whim.

And not a very professional one. She should have been sending out Twitter updates or uploading videos that promised patriotism despite extra hockey, but they had to zamboni the ice and Emma felt Ruby tugging on her arm before she could put up any sort of defenses.

“God, Ruby, relax, you’re going to rip my arm out of my socket,” Emma muttered, trying to find her balance as she was pulled through the crowd. It was loud in the arena – a mix of red, white and blue and just a ridiculous amount of maple leaves on a variety of different fabrics – but Emma could still hear her heart beating in her ears and she hoped Killian hadn’t actually broken anything when he got into the locker room.

She hoped ‘Hawks guy didn’t say something stupid.

Or take him off that line.

The goal wasn’t their fault.

“That was a garbage goal,” Ruby mumbled, not even bothering to answer Emma’s concerns about her arm as she squeezed her fingers even tighter.

“Blood flow, Rubes,” Emma hissed. “You’re cutting off the blood flow up my arm.”  
  
“Ah, yeah, that’s probably not good for the baby, huh?”  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
Ruby flashed Emma a smile, eyes bright when she glanced over her shoulder. “Hey, cat’s out of the bag officially now. I’m going to bring it up constantly.”  
  
“Maybe wait until I actually tell Killian about the test, ok?” Emma asked and Ruby’s smile faltered for half a second. They’d stopped walking at some point and Emma wince when she felt a shoulder collide with her back, a disgruntled American fan muttering curses under his breath at her. She spun to glare at him, pulling her arm out of Ruby’s grasp and crossing it over the front of her blazer and the guy was wearing a Jones jersey.

Of course he was.

HIs mouth hung open for half a moment, gaze flickering between Emma’s face and her wrist and, God, people were still looking for laces.

She resisted the urge to grab at her necklace – or wrap both her arms around her stomach.

“Hey,” he said slowly. “Aren’t you…”  
  
“Nope,” Ruby interrupted, snapping her jaw on the letters as she slung her arm around Emma’s shoulders and pulled her against her. “Go America!”  
  
The guy pulled his eyes away from Emma at Ruby’s exclamation, smile spreading across his face immediately and he nodded once before he turned on the spot, chanting “USA! USA! USA!” as he moved.

“God, this is the worst country in the world,” Ruby grumbled and Emma’s laugh was close to the wrong side of manic. She was being pulled again.

The crowd was still yelling – alternating cheers and insults about respective cultures and hockey players and there were just an absurd amount of Jones jerseys around her. That felt like some kind of message from the universe.

Emma wasn’t sure what the message was – she just hoped it was positive.

She suddenly remembered her phone in her pocket, the weight of it threatening to pull her into the floor and that would have made it difficult to get wherever Ruby was trying to pull them.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Emma muttered, trying to reach her hand into her pocket. Ruby didn’t slow down. And she should find shoes with better traction. “Jeez, Rube, I’m serious. I’m going to break my ankle.”  
  
“Yeah, well, we don’t have a ton of time here.”  
  
“A fact I am, actually, painfully aware of.” Ruby glared at her, seemingly unimpressed by the fingerprints she’d left on Emma’s wrist – but it was just enough time to grab her phone and she hadn’t noticed the text messages before.

She’d been far too busy with media disasters – and Rangers fans who didn’t appreciate Phillip talking about Lithuania before America tried to win a gold medal and there were even _more_ messages from Merida about that, like Phillip would even care – and it seemed almost impossible that everything that had happened in just a few hours had actually happened, but Emma kept blinking and the scene didn’t change.

She was still in South Korea and still engaged to Killian Jones and they were going to have a kid.

_Matthew Jones.  
_  
“We’ve got to keep walking, Em,” Ruby commanded and Emma hummed in the back of her throat, not taking her eyes away from the screen. “What?” Ruby asked, voice dropping into _concerned_ like Emma had just been sent a particularly upsetting message board link. “Did something...is something out there? Mini-Jones?”  
  
Emma blinked quickly, trying to will back the emotion and the tears that were threatening to spill down her face and she wanted to eat whatever that smell was. “He sent me facts about Canada,” Emma whispered.

She’d started crying anyway.

“Wait, what?” Ruby asked, but Emma brushed her off, teeth sinking into her bottom lip and she tried to steady her hands enough that she could type back. “Emma, walk. One foot in front of the other. We’re almost there anyway.”

She nodded again, hardly even listening or pulling her eyes away from her phone as she tried to come up with something supportive to write back. It wasn’t easy – her mind moving faster than Killian did on the ice and if the ‘Hawks guy changed lines she’d punch him in the face.

She wrote that.

And hit send.

And that was kind of angry – probably angrier than it should have been for some recently-confirmed mom and Emma nearly tripped over her own feet again when she realized what she’d typed.

**_That’s kind of aggressive. That’s not really the best start for all of this._ **

“Oh, shit,” Emma muttered and Ruby laughed softly, stopping suddenly in front of a kiosk. She’d completely bypassed the line.

“This is adorable, Emma,” Ruby yelled, nodding towards a tiny bit of fabric that made Emma’s breath catch in her throat and her eyes go wide and the line behind them did not appreciate being cut in front of.

“Relax, relax,” Ruby muttered, waving an impatient hand back towards the decidedly impatient crowd. “I want one thing and then you all can buy more pins to trade.”  
  
“There’s no need to antagonize them,” Emma muttered and her mouth hung open when the woman behind the counter put the piece of fabric down in front of them. “Oh my God, it’s so small.”  
  
“It’s a onesie,” Ruby reasoned as she pushed a card into the woman’s outstretched hands. “It’s supposed to be small. And go ahead and take a moment to be impressed at my will-power because I was totally going to buy this days ago, but because I am your friend and did not want you to have some kind of complete mental break, I resisted.”  
  
“A beacon of charity, you are.”  
  
“Exactly. Now, come on, stop freaking out. It’s almost painfully cute.”  
  
It was – and so tiny Emma couldn’t quite believe an actual human being would, at some point in the near future, fit into it.

She was still crying, or maybe she hadn’t really ever stopped since Killian had shown up in the media room, and Emma had, somehow, managed to tell him without really telling him.

_The best start for all of this._

“Idiot,” she muttered and Ruby made a noise next to her, confusion apparent in her quiet groan.

“Are you having conversations with yourself?”  
  
Emma glanced up, only vaguely concerned with how loudly her neck cracked the movement and there were only a few minutes left until OT started. They needed to get back to the ice. She gripped the onesie tighter instead. “Um, I think I just told Killian. Like. Told him that this is happening. For real.”  
  
“Did you tell him about the test?”  
  
“I mean not in so many words,” Emma sighed, pushing the phone in Ruby’s face. She laughed in response.

“You’re right, you are an idiot. You know they’re probably in the locker room. It’s not like he can answer you.”  
  
“I know. I know. I just...he sent me facts about Canada.”  
  
“The romance is almost palpable,” Ruby chuckled, sarcasm nearly dripping off the words, but she glared at the next person who bumped into Emma’s side, threatening to rip apart their tickets if they moved the wrong way again.

“Man,” Emma mumbled. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to relax. You need a drink or something?”  
  
“Nah, it’s no fun to drink alone. And we’ve still got some work to do.”  
  
Emma nodded grinned and one, tiny onesie should not have felt quite so heavy. It shouldn’t have felt like the most important piece of clothing in the history of the entire world. “Hey, I’ve got an idea,” she said quickly, mind racing again and she wasn’t sure it was possible to produce that many tears in one day. “Here, hold this.”  
  
Emma held the onesie out towards Ruby, who only blinked once before understanding swept across her face and her smile felt somewhere in between protective and overjoyed. “He’ll love it,” she said as the shutter on Emma’s phone clicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never let it be said that Ruby Lucas isn't absolutely, always prepared for absolutely everything. She is and always has been and will continue to be on some kind of indefinite scale. It couldn't be an easy gold medal game, right? 
> 
> Come flail on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	12. Chapter 12

They barely made it back to the ice before puck drop and Ruby muttered something about _recent history_ and _repeating themselves_ and then made a less-than-tactful joke about being late that Emma did her best to completely ignore.

“They kept them on the same line,” Ruby marvelled, resting her forehead against the glass in front of them. Emma glanced at her out of the corner of her eyes, lips twisted as she tried not to worry _too_ much, particularly when the other winger on the Rangers line appeared to be playing keepaway from Killian and Robin.

“What the fuck,” she muttered, standing up a bit straighter. Her hand went to her ring out of instinct, tugging and twisting and dragging it across the chain it was hanging on. She was still holding onto the onesie.

They hadn’t even gotten a bag.

That probably wasn’t doing much to keep this under the radar.

They’d always been absolutely horrible at that.

“Who is that guy?” Ruby asked. “I can’t see a jersey.” She pressed up even higher on her heels, eyes narrowing when they moved the puck back into the zone and Robin was tapping his stick impatiently on the ice. “Oh, shit,” she sighed.

It was a Blackhawks guy – something Mendell and he wouldn't give up the puck. Robin was wide open.

Killian, however, wasn’t.

There were two players in front of him, one of them tapping their stick against the back of his legs and she heard Ruby mumble something that sounded a bit like _that’s a fucking penalty, assholes_ , but Emma didn’t say anything, just watched the shift with frustration seeping through every single inch of her.

They weren’t going to let him get a shot off.

And he wasn’t just playing against the double team – which he could have easily skated out of, no one on that other roster could keep up with him – he was playing against his own team as well.

Goddamn Chicago.

They were back on the bench and Killian looked as angry as he had when Graham scored, but there was something in the set of his shoulders that made Emma certain this was different. And it was impossible for him to notice her – to glance up and meet her gaze in the middle of a goddamn gold medal game, but she was certain it happened anyway.

She was certain he looked up and she smiled when his eyes met hers, hands pressed flat against the boards while she tried to stand as tall as she possibly could.

Her feet had popped out of her shoes.

Killian opened his mouth, leaning forward slightly and he’d absolutely seen her – Robin’s hand finding its way to the front of his jersey so he didn’t actually fall off the bench. Emma’s eyes went wide, trying to figure out what he was yelling at her.

“What is he saying?” Ruby asked softly. Emma didn’t blink, just shrugged slightly and her lungs were starting to burn in protest at the distinct lack of oxygen they were receiving.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Emma mumbled and he was yelling now, leaning over Robin’s outstretched hand until he was practically doubled over on the bench. She banged on the boards, frustration working its way out through both of her fists, and she nearly dropped the onesie. “Say it again!”  
  
Will had joined the fray now, waving his arms on Killian’s other side like Emma wasn’t staring a hole through the boards to try and figure out what he was asking her.

“Oh my God, Scarlet, jeez, look at him. He looks like he’s playing charades,” Ruby chuckled, but Emma was still punching the glass in front of her. The Canadian goalie was probably going to turn around and demand she stop at some point.

“No, no, that’s exactly what he’s doing,” Emma argued. The ‘Hawks guy was yelling now too, pacing behind the bench with his eyebrows pulled low and, maybe, some steam coming out of his ears and Emma could only imagine what the announcers were saying.

David was probably cackling.

“Playing charades?” Ruby repeated skeptically, pulling her head back when Killian cupped both his gloved hands in front of his mouth like that would make a difference. There were only a few minutes left in overtime and the arena felt like it was shaking, every person on their feet and cheering and shouting Emma couldn't hear herself think.

Will rolled his whole head, shoulders sagging when it became obvious neither Emma nor Ruby could hear what they were yelling, and he tugged off one of his gloves, holding his hand up to his ear like it was a phone.

Emma understood then.

He’d gotten her text messages.

Ruby must have seen Emma’s realization as soon as it landed on her face, mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ as she sighed. And then laughed – loudly.

“We’re going to have to have some kind of talk about his in-game communications,” Ruby muttered. “That’s got to be against the rules somehow.”  
  
Emma didn’t listen, just pressed her palms back against the glass and tried to pull herself up so he could see her over the Canadian defense. One of her shoes fell off.

She still couldn’t hear what he was yelling, one leg swung over the boards as he tried to get out for his shift, but it didn’t really matter. Killian stared at her when his skates landed on the ice, eyes wide and _blue_ and just a bit hopeful and Emma nodded, the smile on her face threatening to do permanent damage to her jaw.

“This is gross,” Ruby muttered, but she couldn’t quite make it sound believable. “When mini-Jones makes his and or her appearance in the world, this is the first thing I’m going to tell him and or her. And then him and or her is going to be absolutely embarrassed that his and or her parents were so absolutely, disgustingly in love with each other.”  
  
“Matthew,” Emma corrected. “Although I do keep calling him Mattie in my head.” She still had her hands on the glass and her arms were starting to tingle slightly, but she couldn't figure out if that was from holding them up or if her body was trying to find some kind of hormonal balance between bliss and frustration.

They still wouldn’t give Killian the puck.

“Wait, what?” Ruby asked sharply.

Emma didn’t look at her. “Matthew,” she repeated and she appreciated Ruby’s quick intake of breath more than she probably should.

Ruby didn’t say anything else, but Emma saw her hand move quickly, brushing underneath her eyes and her cheeks actually hurt from overuse.

The muscles nearly seized up when she heard it – the wave of noise from the crowd washing over her and her hands fell off the boards with a quiet thump, landing painfully at her side when she realized what happened.

Canada turned the puck over in the neutral zone.

And it had landed on Killian’s stick.

Emma tried to blink and forgot how, just focused on keeping her legs straight and oxygen in her lungs, and something in the back of her mind reminded her to grab her phone and she just barely got Twitter open before Killian skated over the blue line.

It was a better move than the first goal.

She tried not to think of all the reasons for that.

There was a defender in front of him this time, but Emma didn’t think Killian noticed, just juked around the guy and his stick moved so quickly it looked like a blur.

The goalie had no chance – straight over his shoulder and into the back of the goal, knocking against the webbing of the net in what felt slow motion.

“Did we just win a gold medal?” Ruby yelled, head darting around like someone would suddenly appear to challenge the goal or the question. “Holy shit. We just won a gold medal.”  
  
Emma didn’t move, just gripped her phone tighter and did her best to make sure that the fabric clutched underneath her arm didn’t actually fall on the floor. Killian lost his stick at some point, thrown in the air in celebration as soon as he landed against the boards and Robin was threatening to crush him.

Will joined the fray half a second later, jumping on top of both of them and Emma’s phone was ringing, phone calls and text messages from New York and Colorado and, probably, the team suite they’d never actually gone back to.

“We won,” Emma muttered, not entirely sure if she was agreeing with Ruby or just trying to convince herself it had actually happened.

“God, that ‘Hawks guy was a dick though, right? Ah, they’re all going to ask about that in post. Jeez, that’s going to be annoying.”  
  
Emma laughed softly, trying to keep the phone in her hand steady when the entire Team USA roster jumped over the bench and crashed into the boards. She hoped Henry took pictures of the fans. She should have left more detailed instructions.

They were a pretzel of hockey-player limbs and skates and equipment that was only half staying on as Emma and Ruby pushed their way onto the ice, flashing credentials and trying to keep their balance.

“Man, they’re probably going to build a statue of Cap in front of the league offices now,” Ruby chuckled, nodding when Killian managed to pull himself out of the crowd. “New York boy saves hockey. That’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”  
  
Emma couldn’t answer – she didn’t have a chance. And she could, finally, hear him.

“Swan,” Killian shouted, tugging his helmet off as he moved. “Emma!”

“Cheating,” Emma mumbled and Ruby was bordering dangerously close to cackling now, tugging her phone out of her hand and giving her a small push forward.

She couldn’t really run and Emma could only imagine how absurd she looked, trying to keep her feet in her shoes and the onesie in her hand and Killian got ice on her toes when he skidded to a stop in front of her. She thought he’d talk, thought he’d say something or maybe even explain what he’d been trying to shout from the bench, but he didn’t.

She didn’t really give him half a second to breathe.

Emma pushed up, flinging her arms around his neck and one of his hands found its way to her back. The other one landed on her stomach, palm flat against the fabric of her dress when she captured his mouth with hers.

Will whistled – it was absolutely Will – and Emma was dimly aware of Robin muttering something, trying to pull Scarlet away at the same time Ruby promised cameras there was _nothing to see here_.

She couldn’t stop kissing him, fingers pressed into his hair so she could tug his face back towards hers every time he tried to catch his breath. Killian laughed against her, the ends of his mouth ticking up when Emma started peppering kisses against his cheeks and his jaw and she couldn’t have been making it easy for him to stay upright.

They were, after all, standing on the ice.

“You’ve got to stop moving, love,” Killian muttered. His hand hadn’t moved at all. “We’re going to end up on our backs and that…”

“What?”  
  
He swallowed before he spoke, eyes tracing across her face like he was trying to make sure someone didn’t yell _surprise_ at him. “That probably wouldn’t be good for the baby. Right?”

Killian’s voice cracked slightly on the final word and Emma’s whole body tensed at the way he tried to ignore it, the emotion apparent in all five letters, and she nodded again, tracing her thumb against the curve of his jaw.

“Right,” she promised, pulling the other hand down to push the onesie against his chest. “Ruby’s mad you were looking at your phone during intermission.”  
  
“It’d be rude just to ignore you, Swan.”   
  
“Didn’t you have things to do?”   
  
He shook his head quickly, tugging apart her fingers with a reverence that did something very particular to her pulse and his eyes widened for a moment when he realized what she was holding. “How?” Killian asked softly.

“Ruby bought a test,” Emma explained. “And the onesie. I think she’s making some kind of play to be Mattie’s favorite. And, uh, well, I took the test and it was in English and it said yes.”  
  
“The test said yes?”   
  
“I mean not in so many words.”   
  
“What were the words, Swan?”   
  
There was an edge of desperation in his question, but his gaze was just as hopeful as it had been when he’d been trying to get her attention in the middle of OT of a gold medal hockey game. And if she didn’t love him more at that moment than she ever had before, it would have been an absolute lie.

“I’m pregnant,” she said. “The test said I’m pregnant.”

Killian yelled, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and tugging her up until both of Emma’s shoes fell on the ice. He couldn’t stop kissing her that time and Emma barely considered the symmetry of that before she did her best not to actually groan in the middle of the ice when Killian’s tongue found her bottom lip.

“Jeez, you can’t do that,” she mumbled and he laughed against her mouth.

“Why not?”  
  
“Because then we’ll really end up on our backs and that wouldn’t play well in the tabs. Some kind of international hockey scandal.”   
  
“Why, Swan, are you suggesting you’re somehow attracted to me?”   
  
Emma smacked at his shoulder and he still hadn’t actually put her down. That was good. She didn’t want to stand on ice. “Idiot,” she mumbled. “You were only supposed to score two goals, you know. Henry and Rol are going to fight over who gets control over that third one.”   
  
“Ah, yeah, well, there was an intermission game plan that was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard, so I was trying to prove some kind of point.”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Yeah,” Killian said. “And, maybe, the third goal wasn't for Henry or Rol.”   
  
“No?” Emma asked, fairly certain she knew the answer already. She wanted to hear anyway. “Who for then?”   
  
Killian kissed her once before he answered, smile just a bit nervous like he was worried he’d somehow say too much. “Matthew,” he said and every media outlet in the world could have been taking their photo and Emma would have kissed him anyway.

* * *

It took forever.

Photos and post-game and questions and Killian was half convinced Ruby was going to strangle _The Post_ reporter who asked what Killian had gotten from his girlfriend on the ice after OT.

Will laughed so hard that Killian barely heard the next question.

He, admittedly, wasn’t paying attention.

“Cap,” Robin said, elbowing him in the side and Killian winced. He’d nearly forgotten how hard he’d hit the boards in the first period. His hand had started to swell up again. “They’re asking you more questions.”  
  
“He’s got some other things on his mind,” Will muttered, wrapping his hand over the microphone in front of him so the words didn’t get picked up by the recorders around them. It didn’t really matter. Someone heard anyway.

And promptly asked about it.

“Those other things have anything to do with why your girlfriend was out on the ice, Cap?”

“She looked like she was trying to give you something. Can you give us any idea what it was?”  
  
“Jeez, Lucas, relax.”

Ruby moved in front of the podium, practically snarling at the media contingent in front of them and Killian could barely hear her when she hissed _no comment_ into one of their recorders.

Killian reached forward, tugging lightly on the back of Ruby’s blazer and she grumbled when her heel skid across the carpet. “Stand down, Lucas,” he muttered. “We’re all done here, anyway, right?”

She nodded deftly, ignoring the final-moment questions that came from the crowd in front of her. “Yeah, we’re absolutely done here. No comment,” she added one more time, practically stomping out of the room. “You guys, all got that? Stop acting like tabloids.”  
  
Killian laughed under his breath, determined to make sure Ruby didn’t actually hear him. It didn’t matter – her glare had shifted to Will as soon as he started promising that he’d _battle her somehow_ for the honor of Matthew Jones.

“Can we just get out of here, please?” Robin asked exasperatedly, groaning slightly when Killian’s phone started making noise in his hand. “Jeez, Cap, silence that thing. And tell Liam he can critique your game later.”  
  
“There’s nothing to critique,” Killian argued. “I scored three goals.”   
  
Will made a face. “God, we’re never going to hear the end of this. You really failed on this one Locksley, at least if you scored, we wouldn’t have to hear about Cap scoring a goal for his kid for the rest of our human lives.”   
  
“Just a little bit dramatic, don’t you think?”   
  
“Lucas is trying to steal my thunder as mini-Jones defender. And I couldn't hit anyone all game tonight. I’m not in a mood to be tested.”   
  
Ruby glared at him again. “And what exactly could you do to defend Matthew’s honor, huh? You got a lot of pull with the media, Scarlet? Can you keep him out of headlines? Because we’re doing that already. No one’s going to know this kid exists until Cap and Emma decide they want them to.”   
  
Will blinked once, mouth falling open under Ruby’s continued stare and Killian shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Uh,” Robin muttered, taking a step in between Ruby and Will like he was crossing some sort of unspoken truce line. “We might want to change that statement slightly. And you should answer your phone, Cap.”   
  
It was still ringing, which all things considered, was pretty impressive. They must have been using two different phones. And he didn’t even need Robin to tell them who it was. Killian sighed softly when he swiped his thumb across the screen, the eyes staring at him already dangerously thin when her face appeared in front of him.

“Hey, El,” Killian muttered, dimly aware of Anna’s screech in the background.

“How come he answered you?” Anna shouted, sprinting into the frame and grabbing the phone out of Elsa’s hand. “What the hell, KJ? I mean you play favorites all the time, but in a moment like this, that just kind of seems like an excessively dick move.”  
  
“Is that the technical term for it then? Give the phone back to El, Banana, she looks like she’s going to explode on the edge of the bed.”

Anna muttered several very specific words at him, but she did as he said and Elsa stared impassively at him – features gone decidedly cold after spending most of the afternoon being ignored.

“We were in media,” Killian said, like that somehow explained it all.

“Yu huh,” Elsa hissed. She barely moved her mouth when she spoke and Killian was vaguely aware of a few shifting shadows at the end of the hallway, Henry and Roland’s voices making their way through the space before one of them collided with his side.

“Jeez, mate, relax,” Killian mumbled, reaching his free hand up to brush Roland’s hair back and Elsa gasped loudly.

“KJ is that your hand?”  
  
“What?” That wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.

“Ariel said it was fine! She said it was only green and that was good! That looks enormous!”  
  
“Is that concern I hear, El?”   
  
“Shut up, KJ,” Elsa snapped, but her voice shook just a bit and he backed up until he was resting against the wall, Roland talking a mile a minute against his leg. “Is it really ok?”   
  
“It’s fine,” he promised. “Better than.”   
  
“Of course it’s fine,” Anna interrupted, grabbing a pillow behind her to rest her chin on as she stared accusingly at the phone. “I mean aside from the three goals.”   
  
Killian quirked one eyebrow. “Aside from?”

“You really shouldn’t tell Liam anything.”  
  
He rolled his eyes, slinging his arm around Roland’s shoulders so he wouldn’t start yelling at both of his sisters and a conveniently absent from the conversation older brother. That’s what he got for answering his phone.

“What do you two think you know?” he asked and Anna cackled in response, the pillow a forgotten casualty.

Elsa didn’t blink. “You tell me, KJ. I was the one getting ignored all day.”  
  
“I had a hockey game to play, El.”   
  
“Yeah and there was some time before the hockey game. And after the hockey game.”

“Elsa.”  
  
“Oh ho,” she yelled triumphantly and Killian knew he was a lost cause. Anna was still laughing. “If we’re back to Elsa, it must be something big.”

“Did you finally do it, KJ?” Anna cut in, pressing her face into the frame and she was practically jumping with excitement.

Killian tried to be frustrated. He did. He should have been. And years before he probably would have been. But then Emma had shown up and changed everything and there was no reason to be frustrated by a family that, simply, wanted him to be as happy as he absolutely was.

“How?” Elsa asked, not bothering to ask anything else.

“Oh, God, KJ did you ask her on the ice?” Anna groaned as her head fell onto Elsa’s shoulders. And for half a moment he forgot he was in South Korea, forgot he was on the other side of the world and they weren’t sitting in the brownstone living room, grilling him on every single of the choices he was making.

“No,” Killian snapped, half yelling the words. He kind of wished he had. He wished he’d asked her again. Maybe in the car ride back to the hotel. “Of course not.”  
  
Anna and Elsa both lowered their eyebrows, respective mouths twisted in confusion. “Wait,” Elsa started slowly. “So, what was going on when she ran onto the ice? Wasn’t she holding something?”   
  
Ruby let out a low curse and Killian gaped at her, mind racing to the point and the problem and maybe he was just a bit frustrated after all. “Oh shit,” he whispered. Elsa was still asking questions. “That was on TV?”   
  
“I don’t know, Cap,” Ruby admitted, eyes wide and her phone already out. “I’ll take care of it. Right now. This is going to be fine.”   
  
Will stood up, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and Ruby didn’t even flinch under his stare. “Lucas, you are stealing my job with mini-Jones again. I don’t appreciate it.”

Elsa dropped the phone. Anna actually jumped _on_ the bed, screaming something that was absolutely not English as Will hissed in his breath, grimacing slightly when he noticed the look on Killian’s face.

“Ah, sorry, Cap,” he mumbled.

Ruby smacked at the back of his head, her other hand still typing out something on her phone. “Yeah, you’re doing a bang-up job, Scarlet.”  
  
Killian rolled his eyes, sliding down the wall with all the grace of a mac truck. Elsa picked up the phone as soon as he landed on the floor, mouth hanging open when she met his gaze. “Seriously, KJ?” she asked, any trace of frustration gone from her voice.

She sounded a little stunned.

Killian smiled at her, nodding slowly and Elsa’s hands flew back to her mouth. “Yeah,” he said quietly, glancing away from the screen when he heard heels clicking on the tiled floor. Emma beamed at him, the ring around her neck bouncing up against the front of her dress when she moved.

“Why are you sitting on the floor?” she asked, pushing her toe against the side of his thigh. Her eyes widened slightly when she heard Elsa sniffling and Anna had switched languages at some point. “What is she saying?”

Emma sank down next to him, ignoring his quiet _Swan, don’t_ and he had to strain his ears to actually make out the words. “Uh, I think that’s Portuguese.”

“I take it you don’t speak Portuguese.”  
  
“That’s probably why she picked it.”   
  
“It absolutely is, KJ,” Anna shouted. “And trust me, you don’t know want to know what I was saying. I can’t believe you didn’t tell us!”   
  
Emma glanced at him and Killian grimaced slightly, tugging her against his side and muttering _it’s Scarlet's fault_ against her hair.

“Hey,” Will argued. “It is not my fault. You guys were the ones being all gross on the ice. I’m just here to make sure the internet doesn’t know about Matthew Jones before it’s supposed to. No one believed that thing A sent us anyway.”

Elsa dropped the phone again.

“Jeez, Scarlet,” Emma mumbled, lacing her fingers through Killian’s hand.

There was noise on the other end of the line and the phone fell back to the ground three more times before Elsa finally picked it up, eyes decidedly red and just a bit puffy. Anna bit her lip tightly, tapping her fingers on the side of her jaw like she was trying to work out some residual emotion.

“Killian,” Elsa said slowly and Emma squeezed his hand. She didn’t get another word out before she started crying again, tears falling down her cheeks quickly until she was hiccuping slightly and the phone was shaking.

“Don’t, uh, don’t tell Mr. or Mrs. V yet, ok?” Killian asked. “It’s still super early and we don’t…”  
  
“No jinx, you giant weirdo,” Anna said when he couldn’t quite finish the sentence.

“No jinx,” Emma repeated.

They were the last ones to leave the arena, a string of New York Rangers Olympians piling into cars with some kind of plan to take over the lobby of the hotel with takeout food two hours later. And Killian would have to thank Robin at some point, pulling both Henry and Roland into the car with him and Regina.

“Go plan a wedding or something,” Robin said, swinging open the back seat of the car. “Or, you know, tell her about the bet.”  
  
Emma lifted her eyebrows questioningly and Killian groaned, hand falling on her back when she climbed into the seat. “It’s nothing, Swan,” he promised. “Just colleges and something about a national championship and bringing glory back to Minnesota.”   
  
“Badger, badger, badger,” Robin muttered, saluting once slamming the door shut and Emma was laughing by the time the car pulled away from the arena.

Emma shuffled along the seat, swinging her legs over Killian’s until her head was resting on his chest and he wrapped his around her shoulders tightly.

“Did you bet on where he’d go to college?” she asked, voice not quite even against his jacket, and Killian kissed the top of her head lightly. Of course she figured it out.

“Ah, maybe.”  
  
“Maybe?”   
  
“Definitely?” Emma’s body shook against his when she laughed, but it didn’t ring totally true and Killian shrugged her up until he could meet her eyes. “What’s the matter, love?”  
  
“Nothing.”   
  
“Swan.”   
  
“Nothing.”   
  
“Nuh uh. Once more. He doesn’t actually have to go to Minnesota, you know. Probably better that way, even. Hell, he could play baseball for all I care. As long as he’s happy, it doesn’t really make a difference to me.”

She exhaled loudly, teeth finding her lower lip and Killian wondered what he’d said that she couldn’t quite seem to look at him anymore. “Or….not?”  
  
“You bet Locksley on Mattie going to college. One South Korean pregnancy test and you’re planning his whole entire life.”

Emma’s laugh was shaky at best and she still wouldn’t look at him – even when he ducked his head to try and get into her eyeline. “Did you just call him Mattie?”  
  
“That’s what I’ve been calling him in my head since you told me you wanted to name a kid Matthew.”   
  
Killian hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, but it all seemed to rush out of him quickly, pushing him back towards Emma and his lips found her forehead before he could even remember that something was, probably, wrong.

“I like it,” he said.

“Yeah?” Emma asked, sounding like she was trying to get confirmation on some kind of media report. “Because, uh, I do too. And we didn’t really talk about it. Not until it was already pretty much happening and now everyone knows and Ruby bought that test and David and Reese’s were there and I just…”  
  
“What?”   
  
“I didn’t know I wanted this so badly until I had it,” she whispered and Killian got the distinct impression she felt like she was admitting something.

Emma pulled her lips behind her teeth, eyes flashing back up towards him and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face if he tried. He absolutely did not try. He pushed his hand into her hair instead, fingers wrapping around the back of her head and leaned forward slightly, lips just half a breath away from hers.

“Me too, love,” he said.

His shoulders hit up against the seat when Emma surged up towards him, pulling herself flush against his side and it was as desperate as it had been a few hours before puck drop, trying to pour every ounce of emotion either one of them could feel into a single movement and a single moment.

He wasn’t sure it would work, but he’d be damned if he didn’t keep trying – for most of the car ride back to the hotel.

“Do we have to get out?” Emma asked when the car stopped, cheeks flushed and lips just a bit closer to swollen than they probably should have been. “God, your hair is an absolute disaster.”

“I think they’ll be mad if we blow them off again, Swan,” Killian reasoned. “And, maybe, I’ve got something I want to do.”   
  
Emma hummed in the back of her throat, confusion coloring her gaze when he pulled them out of the backseat. “Half a plan, love,” he said and there was a cry when they walked into the lobby, a sea of Olympians and fans and a few more cameras. “Left, right, Swan. Head up, eyes front.”

“You sound like you’re giving me marching orders.”  
  
“Nah, just trying to follow through with the schedule here.”

“I thought there was only half a plan,” Emma countered, one side of her mouth tugged up into a slightly skeptical smile.

“That doesn’t mean there shouldn’t be some kind of attempt at a schedule. We should have done it this way from the very beginning anyway.”  
  
Emma’s eyebrows moved up her forehead quickly, but she didn’t miss a step, even when they weaved their way towards the front desk. It took her three and a half seconds to understand.

“Smart,” Killian muttered, nodding when a hotel worker appeared in front of him. He tried not to look impatient when they started congratulating him on the goals and the win and the Rangers Olympic contingent was already shouting in the background, screaming about the ever decreasing temperature of the food they’d bought.

“You guys have something of mine in the safe back there,” Killian said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter. “I’d like to get it back.”  
  
The hotel worker looked a bit stunned at the request  – lips going thin and eyes going wide and he looked anywhere except Killian. “Uh, I don’t know that I can do that.”   
  
“Excuse me?”   
  
“There’s no manager here right now. I don’t have access to the safe.” Killian opened his mouth, some very specific words on the tip of his tongue and that’s what he got for _half_ of a plan. “I’m sorry,” the hotel worker continued, still not able to pull his eyes up.

“It’s fine, Killian,” Emma said softly, tugging on the front of his jacket. “We can, uh, we can do it tomorrow. I’m starving anyway.”  
  
Killian groaned. “Swan.”   
  
“Hey, we’re good. We’re excited. It’s totally fine.”   
  
He sighed softly, not quite able to overlook the note of disappointment in her voice. Emma smiled at him, hands flat on his chest and his fingers trailed across the front of her dress before he considered the cameras behind them.

“I love you,” Killian said and Emma’s smile was a bit more genuine.

“I know. I love you too.”  
  
“Oh God, this is absurd,” Regina groaned, appearing out of nowhere with a box of food in one hand and her phone pressed up against her ear.

“What the hell, Gina?” Killian asked. “Did you just teleport here?”  
  
She lifted her eyebrows in response, not even bothering to answer him whenever whoever was on the other end of the phone call said something. “Obviously,” Regina hissed. “Yes, right now. Yes, they’re here right now. I’m staring at them! You can believe me. It’s Killian Jones. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes, looks a little bit like his entire world has shifted on its axis today. I don’t care about protocol. Open the safe.”   
  
Killian stuttered slightly, but Emma laughed, head thrown back until her hair landed across his face. Regina kept talking. Or threatening. It sounded a bit more like threats now.

“Of course you’re going to do it,” she continued. “Because America. And gold medals. And the goddamn fucking Olympic spirit. Get him his ring.” Regina growled out the last few words, thrusting her hand towards the slightly stunned hotel worker in front of them. “Here,” she said. “Talk to your boss.”

He took the phone slowly, looking a little stunned at the whirlwind that was Regina Mills-Locksley.

“You can thank me later,” Regina said pointedly, taking her phone back when the hotel worker walked into the back room. “And congratulations, by the way. On both fronts. But you guys totally should have put that thing in a bag. Roland and Henry had a lot of questions on the way back here.”

“I was kind of excited,” Emma muttered and Killian tugged her closer to his side, something that felt like _joy_ shooting through his entire body. “It was on TV?”

Regina nodded slowly, lips going thin as she tried to find a balance between _agent_ and _friend_ . “Very much on TV.”   
  
Emma groaned slightly and Killian muttered something he hoped sounded supportive against her hair when the vaguely terrified hotel worker reappeared in front of them, a tiny, black box clutched in his hands.   
  
“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” he said. “I, uh, again, sorry about all of this. It’s just not policy to usually do it…”   
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Killian promised, interrupting before Regina could say something particularly aggressive. “Thank you.”   
  
The hotel worker nodded, cautious smile working its way back on his face when Regina stopped glaring at him. “Congratulations,” he said.

Killian hummed in agreement and the nerves were a bit unexpected. He stared at the box resting on his palm, doing his best not to drop it – that had not been part of the half-plan. Regina rolled her eyes when he didn’t move immediately.

“Hey,” Emma said softly and his head snapped towards the sound of her voice. “Still yes.”  
  
They’d developed a bit of an audience – no doubt drawn in by Regina’s voice and demands and Killian would have to mention that to her at some point. Maybe on the plane. Not then.

He was going to do this right.

Emma smiled at him, soft and encouraging and, God, she’d come up with nicknames for the kid already. _Their kid_. They were going to get married and have a kid and a family.

A family for Emma Swan and Killian Jones.

Huh.

Killian moved slowly, not quite sure if he was trying to stay in the moment or simply because bending his knee was decidedly difficult after several hours and one overtime on the ice, but Emma’s eyes didn’t leave his while he moved.

“We kind of hit all the high points before,” he started and Emma let out a watery laugh. Regina groaned and something that sounded exactly like Ruby swatting at Will’s side echoed in the suddenly silent lobby. “But I’ve never wanted anything more than this. Ever. And I’m not going anywhere, Swan. I love you.”  
  
“God, Cap, ask the question,” Will shouted, groaning when Ruby elbowed him.

Emma rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t waver, tugging lightly on the end of her hair. Roland started jumping at some point, just out of the line of Killian’s vision shouting _ask her Hook_ and even Henry muttered something that sounded like _come on, already_ , not quite silenced by Robin’s quiet reprimands.

“None of them were supposed to be here,” Killian muttered. “There should have been a mountain involved.”  
  
“I’m glad there was no mountain,” Emma said, eyes widening slightly when he flipped open the top of the box. That joy he’d felt before seemed to multiply and Ruby was absolutely crying.

Killian took a deep breath, eyes closing lightly when Emma brushed his hair away from his forehead. She was smiling at him when he looked back up.

Joy wasn’t the right word.

Everything.

It was everything.

“Will you marry me, Swan?”

“Yeah,” Emma breathed, tugging her right hand around her waist when he slid the ring on her left finger. “You know, again.”  
  
The Rangers contingent exploded into yells and cheers and camera phone shutters going off as Emma pulled Killian back up, arms wrapped tightly around his neck when her lips met his. Again.

They couldn’t seem to stop kissing in public places.

“That was the most disgustingly romantic thing I’ve ever seen,” Will mumbled, sticking a phone in their faces to snap another picture with the excuse that _Anna made him promise to send updates_.

“Shut up, Scarlet,” Ruby and Robin said at the same time, matching looks of irritation on their face.

Robin clapped Killian on the shoulder – Henry had his phone to take pictures and Roland was still jumping up and down, announcing to anyone that would listen that he was, in no unquestioned terms, the ring bearer.

“It was kind of disgustingly romantic,” Robin admitted. “And I’m here to officially throw my hat in as a third potential Matthew Jones defender. I don’t have much on-ice experience with that, but my kid loves Cap, only seems fair we go both ways.”  
  
“That’s true,” Emma agreed quickly and Killian barely had time to gape at her before she pressed on her toes and kissed him silent. “C’mon, Jones, let’s get some food. Maybe we can stage some kind of air hockey competition for godparent status.”   
  


* * *

 

The next day and a half were some kind of blur.

Emma could hardly remember them happening, let alone actually feel like she was experiencing them – far too caught up in memories of post-gold medal celebrations and they’d posed for an absurd number of photos, her own smile catching her off guard every time she saw it.

God, she was happy.

And several other emotions that she couldn’t actually say out loud because there had been more to the post-gold medal night than an absolutely absurd amount of South Korean takeout.

He kept asking her – the same question over and over throughout the night, muttered in her ear and mumbled against her jaw and as soon as they fell onto the mattress, finally, back in the bed together and there were far too many clothes in her way.

“You want to get married, Swan?” he asked and Emma rolled her eyes so she wouldn’t do something like dissolve into some kind of puddle of _swooning_.

“Haven’t we done this several times already?”  
  
“This is romantic.”

“You keep asking. The answer’s not going to change.”  
  
His eyes got _brighter_ or maybe a bit wider and Emma knew she’d said something important. “Yeah?” Killian asked, breathing out the question. It sent a chill down Emma’s spine. “That’s some kind of indefinite type thing.”   
  
“So mark me down for indefinitely,” she said. She hoped her voice didn’t tremble.

Killian nodded, eyes never leaving her face when his thumb traced just underneath her ring. “Indefinite works.”  
  
She wasn’t sure who moved first – and moving at the same time was almost _too_ romantic, even for her and that moment – but they both shifted slightly, hands finding each other as they tried to touch every bit of skin not covered by clothing.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Emma grumbled, shifting back up towards the top of the bed and Killian chuckled in her ear.

“Impatient, Swan.”  
  
“Determined.”   
  
He kissed her again, lips moving against hers possessively and she whined when he pulled away, teeth nipping at her lower lip.

God, he looked as happy as she felt.

“Too many clothes,” Emma repeated. “Come on, you’re supposed to do what I want in my delicate condition and all that.”  
  
“I hardly think you’re delicate, love.”   
  
“Only when it serves my argument.”   
  
“And does it, now?”

“Depends on how quickly you can take your clothes off, I guess.”  
  
Killian grinned at her, eyebrows moving quickly and Emma was certain her pulse sped up. Maybe she was just a bit more delicate than she claimed.

Their hands moved, tugging on their own clothes and each other’s clothes and Killian nearly lost his balance when he tried to kick his pants off his ankle. There wasn’t much finesse to it – both of them far too wired and emotional and she couldn’t quite remember the last time they’d had an actual _moment_ to themselves.

At least not like this.

“Quick enough?” Killian smirked, a distinct lack of clothing between them when he tugged the blankets over both of them.

“See, but now you’re talking too much.”

“So many complaints, Swan.”  
  
“Suggestions.”   
  
“Such as?”   
  
“You could kiss me some more.”   
  
The smirk shifted, genuine and meaningful and Emma met his smile with one of his own, fingers carding through his hair when he ducked his head and muttered _deal_.

He asked her to marry him two more times before they fell asleep.

There were stories after that – blog posts and actual news stories and Mary Margaret texted the next morning to tell them they, somehow, made Page Six again, that photo of them on the ice plastered across nearly every paper in the entire Tri-State area.

And Emma would have been annoyed by it all, if she didn’t have so much goddamn work to do. Still.

There were medal ceremonies and post-Games videos and she absolutely, positively had not teared up when her _fiancé_ walked back up to her with a gold medal slung around his neck. And there were Closing Ceremonies and the Rangers contingent was adamant that the bet was finished, something about _honor_ and _dignity_ mentioned several times.

Graham rolled his eyes so often Emma was nervous they were going to get stuck that way.

He sang the anthem anyway.

“That was good,” Emma said when he belted out the last note, joined, as promised, by Roland who spent the majority of the video conducting Graham as well.

“Yeah, shut up, Em,” Graham groaned, sinking into a chair and stretching out his legs. His eyes landed on her ring almost immediately and she couldn’t quite believe it had taken that long to get there. “You good?” he asked.   
  
“Good?”   
  
“Happy? Content? Overjoyed at the prospect of some kind of future with Captain America?”   
  
Emma laughed, crossing her arms over her chest and rocking back on her heels. “You getting ready to defend me, Humbert?”   
  
“If necessary.”   
  
“It’s not.”

“You should have put the thing in a bag before you got on the ice, Em,” Graham muttered knowingly and his gaze flitted from her ring to her stomach. “The internet’s been losing its collective mind.”  
  
“Ruby’s doing her best to put a stop that relatively quickly.”   
  
“That’s not like you to do stuff like that.”   
  
Emma shrugged. “I’m happy. The internet can suck it.”   
  
“Ah, well, of course,” Graham laughed, sitting up a bit straighter. “I’m glad, by the way.”   
  
“Me too.”   
  
“That video better get eight million hits. At least.”   
  
“That seems reasonable.”   
  
Graham took a step toward her, tugging Emma against him and she barely caught her breath before he squeezed it all out of her, hugging her tightly in the middle of another Olympic arena. “That kid’s going to have so much family, he won’t know what to do with it all.”   
  
Emma’s heart thudded and that, _that_ , was why she couldn’t stop smiling.

Her kid would have a family – from the very start. No matter what.

“Let me know when you land, ok?” Graham asked, kissing her forehead quickly when Killian stepped into the room.

“Of course,” Emma promised.

Graham nodded at Killian before he left, Emma turning slightly when she heard the squeak of his shoes on the floor behind her. “You ready to go, love?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

She fell asleep on the flight - head on Killian’s shoulder and legs pulled up underneath her with Roland back on her other side, a mess of brown hair spread across her thigh.

“Swan,” Killian muttered softly, laughing when Emma grumbled at being woken up. “We’re here, love.”

“That’s stupid,” Emma muttered. Roland shifted against her, kicking dangerously close to the window when she tried to pull him back up. “What time is it?”  
  
“I have absolutely no idea. Most of the plane fell asleep.”   
  
Emma hummed, not entirely awake yet, and Roland mumbled next to her – he was wearing three gold medals, Robin, Will and Killian’s all claimed as his own as soon as the closing ceremonies were over.

“That can’t be good for him,” Emma said, nodding at the weight around his neck.

“He slept the entire flight, Swan. I think he’s fine.”  
  
Ruby was doing her best to direct Rangers traffic at the front of the plane – her attempts failing to hit their mark when she kept getting interrupted by yawns. Henry was still asleep, sprawled out over three seats in the front row.

“There are cars outside and you’ve got to go in order and…” She groaned when her phone went off in her hand, but hers wasn’t the only one.

It felt a bit like dominoes – the sound working its way down the rows of seats until it seemed like they’d never be able to hear anything else ever again.

“God, are we under attack?” Will muttered, staring at his phone like he couldn’t quite understand what it was doing.

“Scarlet, turn your ringer off,” Killian sighed, pulling Roland against his side when he tried to crawl over Emma. “Watch your feet, mate.”

“Oh shit,” Ruby said. She glanced down at her own phone, mouth falling open when she read the message. “You guys, uh, you should read your message.”  
  
Emma glanced at Killian – Roland halfway up his side with his arms wrapped tightly around his neck. There were four voicemails on her phone and sixteen text messages – most of them from Mary Margaret, but the most recent one was from a number she didn’t recognize.

**_It’s a boy! Dylan William was born at 9:46 pm today. He’s super excited you guys won, but Ariel feels like she should be getting one of her own gold medals as well._ **

Killian grinned at Emma, muttering quiet reassurances to Roland that everything was fine, and Ruby was yelling at them all again.

“Alright,” she said sharply. “Change of plans.”  
  
“We’ve got to go, right?” Will asked, standing in the middle of the aisle with a bag slung over his shoulder already like he was ready to run to the hospital if necessary. “I mean, we’ve got to go. We’ve got to go now.”   
  
“That message did just show up. It’s only quarter after ten.”   
  
“You want to go to a hospital on Long Island half an hour after A just had a baby?” Robin asked skeptically.

Henry had finally woken up. “Who had a baby? Emma?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s not how that works, kid,” Emma said, rolling her eyes. Henry shrugged. “We should go,” she added. “A’s been by herself for two weeks. Plus you guys can’t deny Scarlet the chance to start playing _weird uncle_ from the get-go.”   
  
Will glared at her, hitching the bag farther up his shoulder. “You’re just jealous because you’re not the kid’s favorite.”  
  
Emma pointed at her stomach. “I think I win.”   
  
Killian barked out a laugh, Roland jerking forward at the sound and he murmured a quiet _sorry mate_ against his head. “Swan wins, Scarlet. That’s, at least, twenty points for her. And we should probably go. What do you bring to meet a newborn?”

“These are things you should learn, Cap,” Ruby said pointedly, thumb flashing across her phone screen as she, presumably, told Eric the entire Rangers Olympic line was about to descend on their hospital room. “We can get flowers on the way.”

“Let’s go,” Will whined, already halfway down the aisle before he nearly ran into Ruby.

Killian shifted Roland to his side, pulling his arms back up so he didn’t actually choke him when they moved, and held out his still slightly swollen left hand towards Emma. “You ready to go, love?”

She fell asleep in the car – again. And jet lag was even worse after realizing she was pregnant, every one of her muscles feeling far too heavy for her body. Killian was still holding Roland when they walked into the hospital an hour later, the eight-year-old, apparently, as exhausted as Emma and she mumbled a half-hearted apology while Ruby tried to explain all the reasons they should be allowed into the room in the middle of the night.

“How are you doing this?” Emma asked and Killian hummed in confusion.

“Doing what, love?”  
  
“Aren’t you exhausted?”   
  
“A little.”   
  
“But?”   
  
“Is there a but?”   
  
“There probably should be.”   
  
He laughed softly, resting the side of his head against the top of hers and Emma could feel his lips quirk up. “I’m happy,” he said simply.

Ruby spun on the spot, the entire crowd – all of them still decked out in Team USA gear and Olympic medals and surrounded by carry-on luggage. “Room 314. We’ve got twenty minutes, tops. Let’s go troops.”  
  
“She’d make a fantastic general,” Killian whispered in Emma’s direction and she bit back a smile so Ruby didn’t start yelling at her.

“Admiral, at least,” Emma said.

Ruby glared at her. “See if I defend Matthew Jones from the internet anymore.” Emma lifted her eyebrows and it took five seconds for Ruby to cave. “Yeah, whatever. Come on, let’s go see the first baby.”

They barely all fit in the room and Eric _shushed_ them before letting them cross through the door. “I’m really glad you guys are here and, you know, congrats on being awesome at hockey, but if any of you wake up that baby, I’ll poison all of you one by one.”   
  
“Jeez, is this what fatherhood does to you?” Will asked, pushing to the front of the line. “Take notes, Cap.”   
  
Eric gaped at them. “Wait, what?”   
  
Killian tried to brush it off, but Ariel, apparently, had supersonic hearing. “What did he just say, Cap?” she demanded, hissing out the words so she wouldn’t wake up the baby in her arms.

“Scarlet talks too much, Red,” Killian said. “You should know, naming your kid after him.”  
  
“Only part of the name.”   
  
“Still.”   
  
“Killian.”   
  
“Still here.”   
  
Emma laughed softly and that had been a mistake – Ariel’s eyes snapped her direction, mouth falling open when she spotted the ring on her finger. That woke the baby up. “This is your fault,” she accused, glaring in Killian’s direction while she tried to calm down the newborn in her arms.

“How?”  
  
“If you’d just answer the question like a normal person, we wouldn’t be doing this. Hey, Emma. I’m glad he stopped being an idiot and asked you to marry him.”   
  
Her laugh was shaky, but that might have been because she was so tired and a bit more focused on the half-a-plan that was taking root in the back of her mind than whatever accusations Ariel could throw out in a hospital room.

“That makes two of us then,” Emma said and Killian grinned like he’d won the fucking lottery. Several times.

“See, Red,” he said, leaning forward to drag a finger across Dylan’s tiny arm. He couldn’t move too much. Roland was still hanging off him. “Everything’s fine. Isn’t it?”  
  
Ariel didn’t look convinced. “Stop trying to distract us all by being adorable with my kid. How’d you do it?”   
  
“Hmmm?”   
  
“How’d he do it, Emma?”   
  
“Uh, which time?” Emma asked and Killian groaned. She’d mostly done it for the reaction.

“You did it more than once?” Ariel asked, clearly trying to control the volume of her voice. Killian shrugged. “Do El and Anna know that?”  
  
Killian nodded. “Yeah, they do. Yesterday. Or tomorrow. I don’t know how time works anymore.”   
  
“You told them!”

“You’ve been kind of busy, Red.”  
  
Ariel huffed slightly, but her eyes fell back to her son and the smile on her face sent a specific type of emotion through Emma’s entire body. “I hear you scored three times,” she said softly and Killian stood up a bit straight.

“Yup.”

“Interesting.”  
  
Will groaned. “Alright, alright, we all know what’s going on. You guys are dumb, Cap can’t stop asking Emma to marry him and I want to see that kid.”   
  
“Ah, well, who can argue with that?” Killian laughed, retreating back to Emma’s side. He asked her to marry him again in the back corner of the hospital room.

It took nearly another two hours to get back to their apartment, loaded down with bags and a gold medal and neither one of those things made it much farther than the front door as soon as it slammed shut behind them.

“What time is it?” Emma asked blearily, wobbling just a bit as Killian came up behind her.

“I have no idea. It’s got to be close to two.”  
  
“Jeez.”   
  
“Three days, Swan. Three days before we have to go back and I have no intention of letting you out of this bed. Understood?”   
  
“That seems kind of possessive, Cap.”

He grinned against her neck, leaving soft kisses in her wake and she wasn’t convinced she didn’t just collapse, suddenly weak at the knees over whatever it was he was doing. Or where his hand kept landing.

“Yeah,” Killian agreed. “It is.”  
  
“Well before we fall into that, maybe we could do something else. Quickly? Or kind of quickly. There’s a timer to these things.”   
  
Killian lowered his eyebrows, twisting her around to face him as Emma ducked down to grab that half-a-plan out of her bag. “Swan,” he said slowly, staring at the pregnancy test in her hand with something that could only be described as awe in his gaze. “How’d you get that?”   
  
“In the hospital. You guys were talking to A and trying to impress a newborn and Ruby covered for me long enough that I could ask the front desk if they had them. They did. It was almost too easy. I don’t think that lady knew what to do with the entire New York Rangers roster showing up.”   
  
“Why?”   
  
“Well, collectively, you guys are all pretty attractive and you’re just a bit intimidating in USA gear and…”   
  
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. Why’d you get another one?”   
  
Emma blinked. “Oh,” she muttered. “Only seemed fair you got to see too. And, well, that one before was kind of questionably accurate.” She shrugged. “Just seemed better to...double check. And I kind of wanted you here.”

He nodded at her, smile inching across his face and she’d probably remember the way he stuttered over the words for the rest of time. Or something slightly less dramatic. “So, uh, how do we do this then?”  
  
“I mean, you don’t really have to do anything,” she said, twisting her eyebrows sarcastically.   
  
“Swan.”   
  
“That’s just a fact.”

“It’s timed, right?” Emma nodded. “So you go and I’ll time and then we’ll...see.”  
  
“Again.”   
  
“For sure.”   
  
Emma swung open the bathroom door a few moments later to find Killian leaning against the opposite wall, one leg pulled up and his forearm resting on his knee. “You ok?” she asked, sinking down next to him. “Set a timer and everything?"   
  
“Yeah and yeah.”   
  
“Really selling it.”   
  
“I love you Swan,” he said suddenly and earnestly and Emma pulled back at the sincerity in his voice, the way the words cracked as soon as they were out of his mouth.

“I love you too,” Emma echoed, tugging his arm back around her shoulders and curling herself against his side. “You know, Graham said something to me this afternoon.”  
  
“About his singing?”   
  
“No, no. Nothing to do with the singing. Although Rol totally stole that particular show.”   
  
“What about?”   
  
“He said our kid would have more family than he knew what to do with. And I never had that. Not really. Not until I got here. And, well, you’ve gotten all these great, big sweeping romantic speeches, but it’s my turn now.”   
  
Killian nodded, eyes wide and one side of his mouth pulled up. “I came here thinking it’d be some kind of transition. And I’d stay with Reese’s for a little while and maybe find my own apartment and I’d go to work and do my job and that would be that. And it’s so much more than that. You made it so much more than that. You made it...everything. So you can keep asking me the same question over and over again and it’ll be same answer every single time. Yeah. No matter what.”   
  
He looked stunned – breath rushing out of him and he’d barely started kissing her before the timer on his phone sounded. “Ready, Cap?” Emma asked softly.   
  
“Always, Swan.”   
  
The instructions on this box were in English and it all felt a bit more _real_ – standing in the bathroom of their apartment with Killian’s arm wrapped around her waist and his hand on her stomach.

He grabbed the piece of plastic off the edge of the sink and Emma felt him exhale against her back when he saw the word on the test, the same one it had been the day before or maybe tomorrow, or whenever.

“Same answer,” Killian repeated softly.

“Yeah,” Emma sighed, twisting around to burrow her forehead against the crook of his neck. “Seems to be some kind of theme.”  
  
The test fell the floor when he moved his arms around her waist, lifting her up to rest her on the edge of the sink and Emma’s legs sprung apart out of instinct, Killian stepping into the open space to kiss her.

Again.

Another theme.

“Swan,” Killian muttered and she made some kind of impatient noise in the back of her throat. He laughed against her lips, fingers inching underneath the edge of her t-shirt with practiced ease. “You want to get married?”  
  
Emma rolled her eyes, but she nodded again – a _yes_ every single time he asked her for the three days they didn’t leave the apartment, promises of everything that would come next laid out in front of them.

They hung the gold medal on the Conn-Smythe that was still sitting on the corner of the kitchen counter, an Olympic onesie folded up on the nightstand next to their bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sports feelings! Family feelings! Sports family feelings! There are still three chapters left of future-type feelings, but we're all gold medal winners and everything is tooth-achingly sweet. 
> 
> As always @laurenorder and @distant-rose made this better and you guys are the best for every click, comment and kudos. Come flail on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	13. Chapter 13

“What if we just...got married?”  
  
Emma took a step into the room, pushing her hand into her lower back and appreciating the slightly stunned look on Killian’s face. He pulled his feet off the coffee table they’d been resting on, turning slowly to stare at her.   
  
“What?” he asked incredulously.

She shrugged, tugging her lip in between her teeth and maybe this was a bad idea. She hadn’t really thought it through.

No, that was a lie.

She’d thought about nothing except _it_ for the better part of the last week. And the last five months if she was being honest.

She wasn’t really being honest.

Five months after the Olympics and South Korea and they hadn’t really done anything wedding related – much to Mary Margaret’s dismay. There, quite simply, wasn’t time. There was a season to get back to and a Cup defense to stage and they’d have to buy a brand-new apartment if only to fit the ridiculous number of trophies they were collecting on the counter.

“Swan, sit down,” Killian said, nodding towards the empty space on the couch next to him. He’d been as good as his word – _stupid_ worried and ridiculously overprotective and Emma couldn’t think about _that_ for too long or she’d absolutely start to cry.

Hormones.

Or something.

“I’m perfectly capable of standing,” she argued, not entirely certain why she was arguing when her back felt like it was about to snap in half. Her feet hurt too. Constantly. Nonstop. Even when she sat down.

Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair and glancing up at her with enough concern that Emma felt her resolve slipping immediately. “Swan,” he muttered, pulling her hand away from her back to replace it with his own, thumb pressed against the base of her spine.

“Jeez, that’s not even fair,” she mumbled, forehead falling against his shoulder before she could stop herself.

“Sit down, love.”  
  
“All I do is sit. I am bored.”

She whined out the last few words, dragging out the syllables against the fabric of his team-branded t-shirt and it wasn’t really true. She wasn’t bored.

There hadn’t been time to be bored.

They hadn’t left the apartment for those three days post-Olympics, had turned their phones off and pulled several wires out of the wall, Killian promising he was certain he _could fix that, eventually_ , but when the three days were up, there were hundreds of messages and e-mails and David had shown up in front of their door demanding proof that they both hadn’t been murdered at some point.

There was still a season to play.

They won. Again.

Nearly two decades without a Stanley Cup in New York and now this stupid team had won back-to-back years and set an NHL record for wins in a single season and Killian was on some kind of fast track to being the goddamn greatest player to ever wear a Rangers jersey.

And she’d resolutely refused to miss any of it – despite the collective efforts of the New York Rangers entire goddamn roster for her to _sit down_. She was the most stubborn person in the world. Or so Killian promised.  

The tabloids had, collectively, lost their minds – as if that was something tabloids could actually do – when she started to show, rumors swirling somewhere around the start of the playoffs and Ruby, suddenly, had two jobs – dealing with media requests for the hockey dynasty she had on her hands and shutting down every single demand for a comment about _Cap’s kid_.

That’s what they kept calling him.

_Cap’s kid_.

Emma, at least, appreciated the alliteration.

Killian still hadn’t moved his hand, drawing out tiny circles on Emma’s back until she exhaled against and she could feel him shift underneath her, trying to move his hand to brush across the swell of her stomach and he kept doing that too.

God, she was happy.

And she wanted to get married.

That day.

She was, almost, mad they weren’t married already. Almost. It would have been irrational to actually be mad.

“Swan, sit down, please,” Killian muttered and she could tell he was trying to be stern, but then he kissed the top of her head and that all kind of flew out the window.

“There’s three more months of this, buddy. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack. I can only imagine what your blood pressure must be like.”  
  
“My blood pressure is fine, love,” he countered, pulling back to stare at her meaningfully. Ah, they were back to stern. “It’s yours I’m worried about.”   
  
“Oh my God, you’ve got to stop reading all those books.”   
  
“They’re not books.”   
  
Emma rolled her eyes, shrugging for added emphasis and she couldn’t really move – at least not when he had her locked in between his arms and his hand really did feel good on her back. She couldn't seem to ever get comfortable.

Three. More. Months.

“Forgive me,” she corrected, sarcasm hanging off every syllable. “You’re right, they’re not books. They’re websites. Let’s be as specific as possible.”  
  
Killian quirked one eyebrow, smirk settling on his face with practiced ease. Emma tried not to sigh too loudly when his thumb shifted again, pressing into a knot she hadn’t been able to completely ignore for the better part of the last forty-eight hours. “Testy this afternoon, huh?”

“That’s because you’re not listening to my plan,” Emma said, squeezing her eyes shut when he moved to her shoulders and the back of her neck. “You are cheating, Jones. I came out here with a very specific type of schedule.”

“You know I feel like I should be offended by these accusations of cheating. Face of the league and whatnot, the NHL can’t afford those kinds of things to just be thrown around like that. What if it makes it way into a headline?”  
  
Emma groaned, but he was clearly enjoying himself – eyes just a bit too bright to completely ignore and maybe if they sat down she could figure out a way to stretch out her calves and kiss him. Definitely kiss him.

“Idiot,’ she grumbled, tugging on the front of his t-shirt to pull him back down towards the couch as she fell into the corner. Killian shot her a glare, mouth set in a frustrated line, and Emma huffed dramatically, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “I fell into a mountain of pillows,” Emma said, leaning back into the small collection that didn’t quite fit in the bedroom. “There is, literally, nothing for you to be worried about.”

Killian made a face, but he didn’t actually argue and Emma knew she’d won. “You are sitting down,” he reasoned and it sounded like he was trying to convince himself it was fine.

“You worry way too much. Heart attacks. Blood pressure.”  
  
“Swan, I worked out this morning.”   
  
“Does skating with Roland and Henry count?”   
  
He widened his eyes meaningfully – as if to say it should have counted several times over. “Would you like to double check on the state of my several dozen bruises?”   
  
This was a distraction. She knew it. He knew she knew it.

He knew she knew he didn’t care either.

Or something.

“What’s the matter, Cap? Can’t keep up with Henry and his checks? Will’s fairly convinced he’s going to take over the league any day now. Just graduate high school and take over his job as defender of the Rangers first line.”  
  
“That would require him to be in high school first,” Killian pointed out. “And, no, not Henry. Roland. You know he scored on Jeff today. And not just because Jeff was trying to let him. He actually scored. I thought Locksley was going to explode with pride.”   
  
Killian grinned at her – eyes just as bright as they’d been when he was teasing her, but there was a note of pride there as well and something else Emma couldn’t quite name.

It sounded a bit like hope.

_Cap’s kid_.

“We’re going back in a couple of days,” Killian added, tugging Emma’s legs up over his as she sank further into the mountain of pillows. “Liam's been demanding he get a chance on the ice too.”  
  
“The twins will be thrilled.”   
  
Killian hummed in agreement, tracing out patterns against the side of her stomach and the top of her thighs and for half a moment she thought he’d forgotten entirely about the plan. Or her attempts at a plan.

It wasn’t really all that thought out.

She just wanted.

“They’re going to ask about wedding planning too,” he muttered and Emma grinned at the note of frustration in his voice. “El’s got several opinions on color schemes.”  
  
“She’ll have to go through Reese’s and Ruby first. Hey, maybe they can stage some kind of color-off in the back corner of the restaurant and they can just decide...all of that.”   
  
Killian’s eyes flitted up towards hers and the frustration was replaced with amusement. “You don’t have to answer them, love. It’s not as if we haven’t had other things going on.”   
  
“No, no, I know,” Emma groaned. They were straying – a distinct lack of focus in the conversation that was treading dangerously close to wasting time.

Anna had been at the brownstone for three days already – Emma’s phone the unlucky victim of her return stateside and plans and ideas and suggestions that weren’t really suggestions. And she wasn’t really overwhelmed.

That wasn’t the right word for it.

She wanted – as much as she had during the Games and those three days after the Games that had been somewhere in the realm of perfect – but she was a bit selfish too and while Emma knew exactly what she wanted. She wished everyone would leave her alone to go get it.

She wanted to get married and she didn’t care about color schemes or appetizer choices or anything that wasn’t signing her name on the license that let them file joint tax returns.

Killian shifted underneath her, hissing slightly when he hit his back against the top of the couch and she’d stolen all the pillows.

“But,” he said suddenly, glancing at her expectantly and Emma probably shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew.

“Should that have been a question?”  
  
He shook his head, tongue pressed on the inside of his cheek and eyebrows drawn low. “No.”   
  
Emma grimaced, dimly aware of her phone vibrating somewhere. It was probably underneath all the goddamn pillows. “But,” she repeated. “I don’t want a dozen appetizers.”   
  
Killian’s eyes widened for half a moment, smile inching across his face slowly and he leaned forward to brush his lips against hers before she was entirely prepared for it. It left Emma chasing after him, knocking several pillows on the floor as she tried to move or, at least, sit up straighter.

“That does seem excessive,” Killian admitted, slinging his arm around her shoulders as he tugged her back up against his side. “And I can tell Banana to shut up.”  
  
“You don’t have to do that.”

“Swan, I can feel your phone vibrating through the couch. She’s got to take a deep breath. Mary Margaret too. I know she’s trying to help, but a dozen appetizers is just insane. No one needs that many choices.”  
  
Emma sighed softly, resting her head on his shoulder. “I just…”

“What?”  
  
“I just want to get married,” she whispered, mumbling the words against his t-shirt. Killian’s arm tightened slightly, fingers carding through the ends of her hair and his left hand kept finding its way back to the side of her stomach.

“When?” Killian asked and Emma jerked back slightly at the urgency in his voice. He didn’t say anything when she moved, just stared at her like she was the center of the goddamn universe and maybe they didn’t really need a plan.

Maybe they could just get married.

Emma licked her lips quickly and biology or _whatever_ was the absolute dumbest thing in the entire world because she was crying before she could stop herself, Killian’s thumb brushing across her cheek as soon as the first bits of emotion fell from her eyes.

“When, Swan?” he repeated, just a bit softer that time and the ends of his mouth ticked up. Hope. It was absolutely hope.

“Tomorrow,” Emma said slowly, stretching out the word like she was nervous he’d argue before she’d finish getting the syllables out.

He didn’t.

Of course he didn’t.

He kissed her, surging up quickly and easily and she was six months pregnant – it shouldn’t have still felt like everything. It felt a bit more than that.

Hormones were the absolute worst.

She kept her hands in his hair when his tongue traced over the curve of her bottom lip, tugging back slightly and Killian sighed against her, sending a shockwave down Emma’s spine. Her shoulders heaved when he pulled away, pupils blown wide and mouth half hanging open and he was still gaping at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was there.

“Tomorrow,” Killian repeated. “You want to get married tomorrow?”  
  
“You have to wait twenty-four hours after you get a marriage license before you can actually do it. Unless you get some kind of judicial waiver, but you’re not, like, being deployed or something, so it seems like bad karma to even try for that. I think we can survive twenty-four hours. Right?”   
  
Killian clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Maybe,” he muttered and Emma felt a flush of happiness shoot through every single one of her veins and maybe her arteries and she really didn’t know how biology worked.

“So,” Killian continued softly, tracing his thumb just under her engagement ring. “We go get a licencse and we...what?”  
  
Emma shrugged. “Get married?”

“Tomorrow.”  
  
She nodded, tugging her lip in between her teeth tightly. “Yeah. And we avoid the appetizers and the color schemes and seating charts and we just...do this.”   
  
“Seems only right Matthew’s parents are married before he shows up,” Killian grinned, moving his eyebrows quickly when Emma groaned. “Scandalous otherwise.”   
  
“Tabloid worthy.”   
  
“You know I do like the idea of you being my wife, love.”   
  
Emma rolled her eyes, but her heart leapt at _that_ particular word and she’d only let herself consider that in the most abstract of situations. It sounded better when he said it.

“Then we’re doing this?” she asked, not quite sure if she was looking for confirmation or acceptance or a bit more enthusiastic making out in the corner of the couch.

Killian nodded. “Ask again, Swan.”  
  
“What?”   
  
“Again,” he repeated and she’d never be able to quite decide the best way to describe the way he kept looking at her, a mix between wonder and joy and that want she felt in the very center of her.   
  
Emma was fairly certain she moved, something that might have been a jerky nod or a quiet _yeah, ok_ , but it all felt a bit breathless and he kept calling her Swan. Still.

“What if we just got married tomorrow?” she asked. “Just us. You and me and the head of lettuce.”  
  
Killian beamed at her. “Perfect,” he said, moving slightly, but he didn’t kiss her the way she expected. He ducked his head instead, brushing his lips across her stomach and she could feel his smile through the fabric of her t-shirt.

The worker at the City Clerk’s office recognized them – or, at least, recognized Killian, eyes going wide and mouth going slack when their number was called.

“Shit,” he mumbled, dropping the pen he was trying to hand Emma on the floor and Killian rolled his eyes. Emma laughed, some kind of weird, giddy sound that didn’t match up with how much her back still hurt or how goddamn swollen her ankles were and the website might claim Matthew Jones was the size of one lettuce head, but he felt a bit like a bowling ball settling on her pelvis.

“Not a word,” Killian said, voice low as he leaned over to grab the half-forgotten pen, but there was an edge to his voice that left the clerk nodding slowly, an unspoken understanding reached right there under the florescent lights. “Is that understood?”  
  
The clerk nodded again, holding his hand out for their driver's licenses. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he muttered. “Mum’s the word, Cap. Nice shot in the Final, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Killian said, not sounding even remotely thankful and his eyes darted around the room like the half a dozen people around them were all plotting different ways to sell them out to Page Six.

Emma smiled as the clerk mumbled something about _processing_ and _notary_ and _right back_ , resting a hand on the front of Killian’s shirt. He’d changed out of team-branded. “Blood pressure,” she reminded him and he sighed against her, tugging her back against his side.

“I know you’re reading websites too, Swan,” Killian said, kissing the top of her head lightly when the clerk returned with processed papers and explanations of _how this works_.

They nodded, far too aware of the rules already – as if they both hadn’t scoured the City Clerk’s website on the car ride downtown – and did their best to smile when a pile of paperwork was pushed their direction.

“So, that’s it,” the clerk finished. “Twenty-four hour wait period and you guys are good to go anywhere in the entire state of New York. Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”  
  
Emma blinked once, stiffening slightly against Killian and she heard his breath catch in his throat, arm tightening just a bit when he gripped her shoulder. The clerk looked nervous again, smile just on the wrong side of forced and they should have been gone, walking away from the cubicle with paperwork in hand.

They still had to find rings.

But that was the first time Emma had heard _that_ out loud and it sounded a lot better than she expected it to.

“Let’s go Rangers,” the clerk muttered, practically tripping over the words and Killian nodded deftly, grabbing the licenses without a word.

They didn’t say anything until they were back on the sidewalk – jam-packed with tourists and suits and people who didn’t quite understand New York once they got off the midtown grid. Emma took a deep breath, grimacing slightly when she was hit with the distinct scent of street-car hot dogs and that seemed to wake Killian up, snapping his head around towards with a wide-eyed expression that was bordering somewhere close to panic.

“Swan,” he said slowly, tongue darting out between his lips and he looked like he couldn't quite catch his breath. “I...”  
  
She wasn’t sure what did it – the shaky way he trailed off or the way he couldn’t quite hold her gaze for more than a few seconds or how much she absolutely hated the smell of street-cart hot dogs – but Emma took two steps forward before he could keep talking, wrapping her arms around his neck and tugging his head down until he didn’t really have any choice except to kiss her back.

“Deep breaths,” she muttered, still lingering in his space and she could just barely make out his smile.

“He shouldn’t have just assumed.”  
  
“He was star-struck. You can’t really blame him. And uh….”   
  
She trailed off too and, well, maybe this wasn’t the best place to have this conversation. She’d been hit with four difference briefcases and one rather aggressive shoulder blade already.

“Swan,” Killian said, the question in his voice obvious and she just nodded down to the paperwork he still had clutched in between them.

It was obvious as soon as he saw it – jaw practically landing on the sidewalk and his knees wobbled slightly. They hadn’t really discussed it. Although to be fair, until a few hours before, they hadn’t really discussed anything to do with a wedding and it _was_ some kind of spur-of-the-moment thing.

She’d probably blame hormones.

“Are you sure?” Killian asked softly. He barked out a quick _hey_ when someone bumped against them, pulling Emma against his chest and she rolled her eyes at the movement. If they managed to do this without the entire city figuring it out, it would be a goddamn miracle.

“I mean,” she started, leaning back to meet his cautious gaze. “It did sound pretty good when the guy said it.”

She appreciated the slightly stunned look on his face, the way he nearly tripped over his own feet when he backed away from her, dropping her hand so quickly she was half certain he’d been actually shocked by the meaning behind her words.

Emma Jones.

Didn’t sound horrible. She’d checked the box.

“Swan,” Killian said again and Emma got the distinct impression he couldn’t come up with another word. “Honestly? You’re sure?”  
  
“Well, I mean I checked the box already. So unless you want to go back in there and deal with Rangers superfan again, then I think you’re stuck with me. As it were.”   
  
“I’m not stuck with anything, love,” he argued, taking a step back into her space and he still couldn’t really look at her. “The other way around, if anything.”   
  
“That’s stupid.”   
  
“A rather pointed opinion.”   
  
“An honest one,” Emma said easily. “And, you know, I was thinking. It only makes sense really. If we’re going to do this and the lettuce is going to show up and it’d just be a lot of effort to explain to him why I have a different name than either of you and that’s kind of a conversation I don’t really want to have….”   
  
She was rambling, frozen solid on the sidewalk in the middle of downtown Manhattan with the sun beating down on her neck and, God, it was hot. They still had to buy rings. She had to find something she fit in to wear.

They were going to get married. Tomorrow.

They were going to spend a small fortune on cab rides downtown.

“Emma,” Killian interrupted and she widened her eyes, rolling her head onto her shoulder. “I know, I know, that’s cheating. Just...stop talking for two seconds.”  
  
She glared at him and she was absolutely sweating now, beads of moisture falling down the back of her neck and there was a pool of something decidedly disgusting settling on the small of her back.

“I mean, we can go back inside if you want. I just thought…”  
  
Killian groaned, throwing his head back and his feet were so close to hers that Emma was almost nervous he was going to step on her toes when he rocked towards her. She stopped worrying about her toes when he kissed her – everything neither one of them had been able to say poured into one movement and whatever noise they both kept making in the back of their throats.

“Someone’s going to see,” Emma mumbled, swaying slightly and Killian’s hand shifted from her back to her side, brushing his thumb across fabric.

“I almost don’t care.”  
  
“They’re going to be mad that we did this on our own.”   
  
“Who?”   
  
“Every single person we know.”   
  
“I absolutely don’t care about that.”

Emma pulled back slightly and, at some point, the feeling in her stomach was _actually_ a feeling in her stomach that, more often than not, seemed to match up with particularly emotional moments. There was probably a reason for that. Maybe she’d look it up.

Killian probably knew.

He smiled at her, soft and supportive and she should probably time how often he kept his hand trained on her stomach. It was probably an absurd amount of time. “I just want something that’s ours? God, that shouldn’t be a question," Emma asked softly. "Just something that’s you and me and the lettuce. And family is so cliché and stupid and, you know..feel free to cut me off whenever.”  
  
“Why would I do that when I want the same exactly thing?” Killian asked, twisting his eyebrows and the lettuce flipped over.

“Yeah?”  
  
“Without a doubt, Swan. You, me and the lettuce. Although the website claims he’ll be an eggplant next week, so we better get this wrapped up before he evolves into a totally different vegetable.”

She needed to stop crying.

“I knew you were reading websites, you giant weirdo,” Emma mumbled and Killian hummed, kissing her cheek lightly and lacing his fingers through hers.

“C’mon love. None of this matters if we don’t get rings.”

They bought the rings at some hole-in-the-wall jeweler in the Bowery, silver bands that absolutely were not silver and would probably leave both their fingers with green ring around them the next day.   
  
It was perfect.

They didn’t tell anyone, so there was no way to give credence to pre-wedding superstitions and Emma fell asleep with her head on Killian’s shoulder and his voice in her ear and something that sounded a bit like Mr. and Mrs. Jones echoing in her memory.

She owned one white dress – and it didn’t fit.

“God damn,” Emma sighed, staring at the closet and rolling her head back and forth between her shoulders. Her neck hurt. Her back hurt. She wanted to wear the one white dress she owned to her wedding.

“Swan,” Killian called from the other side of the door, knocking lightly on the wood and they’d fallen asleep together the night before, but he’d been adamant about doing at least _one thing_ according to tradition. “Are you alright, love?”   
  
“Perfect,” she bit out, scowling at the bitterness in her own voice. Killian didn’t say anything else, but she could hear him in the short hallway outside, the floor creaking slightly when he shifted his weight between his feet.

He probably looked good.

He probably looked great.

God, he was probably wearing a suit. In the middle of July. Because they were getting married.

And there it was – the one thought to help the frustration dissipate just a bit and maybe work out that one nerve in the corner of her back that felt like it was being held in a particularly aggressive vice.

They were going to get married.

Emma reached forward, grabbing the one dress she knew didn’t just fit, but still looked pretty fucking fantastic all things considered and maybe perfect wasn’t a total lie.

“I’m fine,” she said, answering a question Killian hadn’t actually asked. “Just, uh, give me two seconds.”  
  
The dress was blue.

She took a deep breath before she swung the door open, trying to keep the tears in her eyes and away from her makeup, but her heart felt like it was trying to work its way out of her chest and her knuckles were white around her ring by the time she stepped into the living room.

He was sitting on the couch again – feet swung up on the coffee table with a hand already running through his hair and that was good, maybe that meant they were on some kind of even emotional footing.

“Hey,” Emma muttered, trying to smile and not entirely certain it worked the way she wanted.

It did.

Killian’s head snapped up, hand falling back to his side with an audible _thump_ and his shoulders sagged noticeably when he looked up at her. She was totally going to fuck up her make up, pulling her lip in between her teeth and she didn’t know what to do with her hands, twisting them in front of her and behind her and it felt like an eternity before he finally moved.

It felt like they were moving in slow motion, cautious steps towards each other and hands brushing on fabric with wide-eyed gazes and slightly open mouths and Emma wasn’t convinced either one of them was breathing.

Killian swallowed, exhaling loudly as a muscle in his jaw ticked. She’d been right – he looked good and great and several other adjectives Emma would have acknowledged if she was getting enough oxygen to her brain.

HIs tie was blue.

“Swan,” Killian mumbled, eyes tracing across her face like he was trying to take inventory of her, making sure she was there and she still hadn’t taken a deep breath.

“Ok?”  
  
“Perfect.”   
  
“You keep using that word.”   
  
“So do you.”

She was still biting her lip, sure she was close to actually biting it in half and, at some point, he’d grabbed both of her hands in his, pulling them up to his lips to kiss along the line of her knuckles. He lingered just under her ring, nipping slightly at the bend in her skin and if her heart wasn’t already trying to work its way out through her ribs, Emma would have been positive it had stopped completely.

“I love you,” Killian whispered. It was silent in the apartment – or as silent as it could ever be in Manhattan, a siren in the distance and a horn honking on the street outside and Emma could barely hear him when he spoke.

She didn’t answer at first, emotion taking up residence in the back of her throat as she tried to blink back tears and that didn’t really work either. “You want to go get married, then?” Emma asked, pulling her head up and he grinned when her eyes met his.

“More than anything.”

There was a line when they made their way back to the City Clerk’s office and the same guy was behind the closest desk when they walked in, nearly jumping off his stool when he spotted them.   
  
“Cap,” he shouted, grimacing when he realized what he’d done and half a dozen head spun in their direction.

“Perfect,” Killian muttered, pulling Emma closer to his side and she would have grumbled something about _overprotective_ if she weren’t so goddamn charmed by it. He nodded in the direction of the clerk, smile not quite reaching his eyes and a camera shutter clicked loudly in the waiting room.

“As fantastic at under the radar as always,” Emma laughed. She laced her fingers with his, twisting her arm behind her when three people nearly knocked their chairs over in an attempt to let her and Killian sit down. “Jeez, I’m surprised they didn’t roll out some kind of red carpet.”  
  
“Blue, Swan. Obviously.”   
  
“I should have called my guy.”   
  
“Ah, next time.”   
  
“Were we going to do this more than once?”   
  
Killian shrugged. “Nah, just once is good.”   
  
“Deal.”   
  
He signed two autographs and posed for one picture before their number was called – swearing fans to secret for, at least, forty-eight hours and they’d all agreed enthusiastically shouting _Let’s go Rangers_ before walking away.

And it was going as perfectly as planned, their hands still wrapped together when they walked to the far end of the lobby with matching smiles on their faces when it all, rather suddenly, seemed to crash down around them.

The marriage officiant – a short man with thin hair and wide eyes – glanced down towards Emma’s wrist, as soon as he realized who they were. “Do you two have a witness?”

“What?” Emma asked, eyes darting towards Killian and he shrugged in response. “Isn’t that you?”  
  
“I’m the officiant,” the man said. His name tag claimed he was _Zach_. Zach the marriage officiant, sent from some rule-abiding hell. “You need someone else to serve as a witness.”   
  
“But there's no one else here. We’re kind of doing this on our own.”

Zach held his hands up helplessly, throwing a cautious glance Killian’s way like he was nervous he was going to check him into a cubicle. “I’m sorry Mrs...uh, Emma. Ms. Swan? I just, well, those are the rules. Go Rangers, though!”  
  
“Go Rangers,” Emma repeated numbly, hand going limp in Killian’s grasp. She felt her shoulders droop, all the air rushing out of her lungs and she was so disappointed she was practically shaking with it.

“Yeah, no, we’re not doing that,” Killian said suddenly, the determination in his voice catching her off guard. “You want to get married, right, Swan?”  
  
She nodded quickly and she wasn’t sure how her mind caught up with his so quickly, but she could almost _feel_ the idea click into place. “What’s his name?” she asked, nodding behind her and Killian made a noise in the back of his throat.

“I have no idea,” he admitted.

Emma glanced back at Zach – who still a little wary of Killian's expression – and did her best to smile encouragingly in his direction. “That guy, up front,” she started. “The clerk guy. Blonde hair, blue eyes, yelled _Cap_ when we walked in?” Zach nodded. “What’s his name?”   
  
“Um, Evan,” Zach answered slowly, confusion settling into the space between his eyebrows. “I don’t know what his last name is.”   
  
“That doesn’t matter,” Emma promised, spinning on her heels and jogging towards the lobby. She ignored Killian’s quiet sigh when she moved.

Evan dropped another pen when she skidded to a stop in front of his desk, mouth falling open a questionable amount. “Uh, hey,” Emma said brightly. “You got, like, ten minutes?”  
  
“Ten minutes,” he repeated slowly, sounding like he was hearing the words for the first time.

Emma nodded. “Tops.”  
  
“Uh, yeah. I can do ten minutes.”   
  
Killian crossed his arms when Emma jogged back towards him, eyebrows pulled low in disapproval and she grinned in response. “This is Evan,” she introduced. “He loves the Rangers and, probably you, which is convenient since this is all about that and he’s got ten minutes to spare, so, you ready to go, Zach?”   
  
The two men gaped at both Emma and Killian – stunned just a bit by the distinct lack of romance in any of this and, well, that was exactly where they were wrong.

It was...unconventional, sure, but it was so _them_ that Emma was sure when the lettuce became an eggplant and then, eventually, became an actual real, live, human baby, it would probably be the first story she told Matthew Jones.

Because it had always been this, as easy as skating, falling into a rhythm on the ice and scoring a hat trick in the gold medal game of the fucking Olympics and they might have been set up, but they’d found something in the set-up too – as simple as breathing and just as important.

They’d found home.

There wasn’t much creativity to the vows, Zach reading from a card gripped tightly in his hands and he didn’t lift his eyes up once. It didn’t matter. Emma didn’t look away from Killian once either, smile tugging on one side of his mouth and his hand back in hers, thumb rubbing circles on the side of her hand.

“Killian Jones,” Zach started and a chair scraped loudly when another person realized what was happening at the far end of the hall. Emma laughed when Killian rolled his eyes, squeezing his hand slightly and he pulled her fingers back up to his lips.

“False start,” Emma mumbled and he grinned against her hand.

“I’m not a centerman, Swan.”  
  
She made a face and Zach coughed uncomfortably, shifting on his feet and finally glancing up from his index card. “Sorry,” Emma sighed and she could _feel_ Killian smirking at her. “That was totally his fault though.”   
  
Evan laughed next to them, not quite able to turn it into a convincing cough quickly enough, and Killian didn’t let go of Emma’s hand when Zach tried to restart their vows.

“Killian Jones,” he repeated. “Do you take Emma Swan to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all other and holding only unto her?”  
  
Emma tried to will her hand to stop shaking, but it didn't and Killian didn’t blink when he looked at her, eyes blue and meaningful and staring straight at her with a sense of wonder that left her just a bit off balance.

And then he smiled.

And the world felt like it shifted just a little, rotating on its axis or something that astronomers would promise was scientifically impossible.

Emma was never entirely convinced.

“I do,” Killian promised, sliding a not-quite-silver ring onto her finger. He stared at it for half a moment before Zach coughed again and if there were comment cards, Emma was probably going to mention that.

“Emma Swan,” he said. “Do you take Killian Jones to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all other and holding only unto him?”

She wasn’t sure how she got the words out, certain she’d lost the ability to speak as soon as the word _husband_ echoed in her head, but Killian squeezed her hand, a quiet encouragement and promise and, suddenly, it was easy to promise indefinitely.

“I do,” Emma said and they’d have to get new rings eventually. Killian’s might have been tin.

Evan beamed at them and they’d drawn a small crowd at some point, a mix of tourists and soon-to-be married couples and even a few city workers on their break, or, maybe, not on their break. Emma barely noticed.

“Then,” Zach said pointedly. “By the power vested in me by the city of New York, I now pronounce you, officially, husband and wife. Cap, you may now kiss your bride.”  
  
Killian widened his eyes, a flash of something that was probably somewhere in the realm of euphoria in his gaze and Emma _giggled_ before he pulled her against him, one hand in her hair and the other on her stomach and he kissed her like it was the start of _everything_.

There were cheers and camera clicks and someone had started a _Let’s go Rangers_ cheer while a couple next to them actually started singing the goal song.

And it was so perfect Emma was slightly terrified she’d dreamt it, had come up with everything, the set-up and the engagements and the lettuce, and she’d wake up in an empty apartment in Los Angeles only to watch a Western Conference Finals loss and get fired.

“I love you, Swan,” Killian whispered against her lips and her eyes snapped open. This was real. This was her life.

“I love you too,” she echoed, resting her forehead against his as Evan signed off on the legality of all of it.

Emma Swan had just married Killian Jones.

And people were still cheering.

They posed for more pictures on the way out of the office – some on their own phones, but most of them were fans and city workers and Emma’s jaw was starting to cramp by the time they made it back outside.

“We’re going to be late,” she said as Killian hailed a cab, swinging open the back door for her with a smile on his face that practically announced how little he cared.

“We’ll come up with some excuse. There’s a lot of blocks between here and the restaurant.”  
  
“You want to spend all those blocks coming up with an excuse?” Emma asked, twisting her eyebrows and dragging her hand up the top of Killian’s thigh. His breath hitched in his throat. “Because that seems like a distinct waste of time.”   
  
“Why, Swan,” he said slowly, twisting slightly until dragged his mouth against the curve of her jaw. Emma sighed or maybe groaned and they’d have to give this cab driver an absolutely ridiculous tip to make up for this. “Are you propositioning me in the back seat of a cab?”   
  
“No,” Emma answered easily and there was something to be said for confidence when you knew what you wanted. “I am trying to make out with my husband in the back seat of a cab. There’s a definite difference.”   
  
Killian’s eyes widened, flickering from her face and her lips and down to the ring on her left hand and his answering smile was the only warning she got before he started kissing her – for the entire cab ride.

“Twenty minutes,” Ruby shouted as soon as they got out of the cab, waiting for them, apparently, on the front step of the restaurant with an almost visible air of frustration hanging over her. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for you guys? Twenty _fucking_ minutes. Listening to appetizer options and baby options and have you picked a color for the nursery yet? Because El has a few options she’d like you to look at when you get here, Em.”   
  
Killian mumbled under his breath, something that sounded a bit like _not now, Lucas, jeez_ , but it didn’t hold quite enough acid to sound particularly threatening and they were both still smiling too much.

Ruby narrowed her eyes, the mind three steps ahead already and Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes or just push her way into the restaurant. She could already hear Anna shouting.

“What happened to your hair, Cap?” Ruby asked, crossing her arms over her chest and leveling Killian with a knowing gaze.

“Windy,” he said simply and Ruby’s face didn’t change.

“That so?”  
  
“Yup.”   
  
“Come up with a more convincing lie before you walk in there.”   
  
She was gone half a moment later, a flash of black hair and red highlights and Killian sighed loudly, kissing the top of Emma’s head like he was trying to remind himself she was still there.

“Ready to face the firing squad, wife?” he asked and Emma smacked against the front of his button up when he didn’t even bother to try and keep his voice down. They hadn’t changed. They were already twenty minutes late.

“Seems awfully possessive, don’t you think?” Emma countered.

Killian hummed in the back of his throat, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and someone shouted for them from just inside the door. It was Anna. “Just a fact, Swan,” he said. “And blue. Or red. Or a mix of both.”  
  
“Wait, what?”   
  
“Matthew’s room. Red and blue. I mean just straight blue is almost too obvious, don’t you think?”   
  
Emma nodded, something fluttering in the very center of her and maybe eventually she’d collapse in some puddle of _emotion_ , but at that point she couldn’t quite move past happy and Killian kept tracing his thumb underneath her ring.

“Obviously,” she said softly. “And you keep doing that.”  
  
“What?”   
  
“You keep calling me _Swan_. Still. I checked the box.”   
  
Killian turned on her, back to the restaurant doors and the demands of their immediate presence and Emma nearly backed up when she saw the weight of _feeling_ in his eyes. “Ah, well, old habits and whatnot. And maybe I kind of like it. Still. Although I’m not entirely impartial to Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”   
  
She pressed up on her toes to kiss him, heels popping out of her flats and there wasn’t really that much space in between them, but his arms worked around her anyway, pulling her flush against his chest when he mumbled _my wife_ against her lips.

“Guys, oh my God,” Ruby groaned, swinging around the doorway as her hair fanned over her face. Emma sprang back, trying to pull her hand away from Killian’s neck and it didn’t really matter – Ruby was far too focused on getting them inside to care about recently acquired jewelry.

It took ten minutes of _hellos_ and _have you picked a nursery color yet_ and _you need a color for a nursery_ and _Emma, what do you think about the All-Star break, there’s something romantic about winter, don’t you think_ and Killian groaned when they made it to the back corner of the restaurant, grabbing a stool and nodding towards Emma.

“Sit,” he said, shaking his head when Mary Margaret handed Emma a possible menu that she and Eric had come up with as soon as the playoffs were over.

“What do you think?” Mary Margaret asked, enthusiasm in her voice and Emma was actually surprised she hadn’t started jumping up and down at some point.

“Mary Margaret,” Killian warned, but she brushed him off quickly, excitement practically rolling off her in waves.

“We’ve got it, Killian. Now, Emma I know you didn’t want a dozen, but I was thinking maybe half and if we do the February thing like El was thinking, that might be better because it gives us a chance to do some more savory ideas and no one wants too much of that…”

It went on for an hour – and Emma tried to smile and nod and hide her left hand as much as humanly possible and she’d never wanted a drink more in her entire life.

She'd never wanted to scream _we just got married, psych_ more in her entire life.

Neither one of those things were particularly responsible.

In the end, it didn't really matter. Anna figured it out. An hour into wholly unnecessary wedding plans and Emma’s vision was starting to go spotty when Anna let out a screech that wasn’t entirely human, hand flying to her mouth and finger pointing traitorously at Killian.

“Oh my God, KJ,” she yelled, leaping up and down and swatting at whoever was closest to her. It was Liam. He grabbed her around the middle without a word, holding her arms down with his and only barely keeping her shoes on the ground.

“Breathe, Anna, you’re scaring the kids,” he said.

“Aren’t you seeing this?” Anna snapped, ignoring Liam completely. “El? God, where’s El? El are you seeing this?”  
  
Elsa pushed through the crowd, Roland and Henry trailing behind her with Robin bringing up the rear and it felt like an avalanche of realization – everyone gasping and shouting and Mary Margaret might have actually cursed under her breath.

“Emma,” she said breathlessly, tugging her left hand away from her side and staring at the two rings on her finger. “Oh my God.”  
  
Emma shrugged slightly and Killian laughed, kissing the top of her head as she leaned back against his chest.

“When?” Anna yelled, voice going hoarse as Elsa tried to press a glass of water in her hands. “And, well, when?”  
  
“You mentioned that twice, Banana,” Killian pointed out. Anna glared at him, pulling his hand away from Emma’s side with a force that took them both by surprise. “Jeez, Banana, you’re going to pull my wrist out. Relax.”   
  
“You need better rings.”   
  
“Yeah, it was kind of a quick decision.”   
  
“How quick?” Elsa whispered and Emma tried to find a face that wasn’t staring at her with a mix of disappointment and awe. She found it half a dozen feet away – a smile on his face and pride practically radiating off him and David might have had tears in his eyes when she looked him. He nodded at her.

“There was a reason we were late,” Emma said and it sounded like the roof actually blew off the restaurant, more shouts and screams and Will yelled _holy shit_ before Robin could punch the side of his arm.

Mary Margaret had started crying at some point, hands pressed flat against her cheeks like she was reenacting a particularly famous work of art and her head kept snapping between Emma and David.

“You’re going to get whiplash, Reese’s,” Emma warned, leaning forward to pull one hand away and Mary Margaret gaped at her hand, sniffling softly before nearly tugging her off the stool. Killian made a noise in the back of his throat, keeping his hand trained on Emma’s back and they were some weird, triangle hug that was more a tangle of limbs and a bump of lettuce, but Mary Margaret didn’t let go.

“I’m so happy for you,” she whispered in Emma’s ear, squeezing slightly and reaching around to grip Killian’s hand as well.

There were more hugs and demands for a detailed description of the afternoon and pictures and then more pictures and Emma felt like her head was on a swivel by the end of it all, passed around from Ranger to Ranger for the remainder of the night.

“We should toast don’t you think?” David yelled at some point, a half-full glass of something clutched in his hand.

Robin shouted _here here_ and Will couldn’t quite sit straight on his stool, in the midst of a detailed discussion with Liam over bets and the college game while Belle kept her hand on his shoulder to steady hm.

Emma leaned against the edge of the bar, an arm working its way around her shoulders almost immediately and she felt herself practically melt against Killian’s side. “Go ahead, Dad,” she shouted and David smile could have powered the entire city for several weeks.

He made a face, but nodded towards Eric anyway, glasses passed around and Killian had hardly opened his mouth before Eric promised _sparkling_ and handed Emma her own champagne flute.

“Deep breaths,” Emma muttered. He kissed her again.

“Once upon a time, Emma showed up at our loft with one suitcase and the promise that she absolutely did not need Mary Margaret to plan the Swan-Jones wedding,” David started and Emma squeezed her eyes shut tightly, that emotion that had been threatening to overwhelm her on the sidewalk rearing its head again.

“And Mary Margaret never really listened,” David continued, shooting a glance his wife’s way. She rolled her eyes. “But it didn’t really matter anyway. Because, as with most things Emma, she figured it out herself and she took control of this team and the city and the captain of the best team in the entire goddamn league.

So, we didn’t really have to do anything. Emma’s always been the most determined person I know and she might joke about being our kid, but she’s actually the glue that kept all of us together and her showing up in New York changed everything. So, uh,” he stuttered slightly, blinking quickly and Emma could feel the tears on her cheeks. “To Emma and Killian.”  
  
“To Emma and Killian,” the crowd echoed, clinking glasses and nodding in their direction and Emma downed her drink in two gulps.   

“To us,” Killian whispered, brushing his lips just below her ear and Emma did her best to force the memory of it into every corner of her mind.

She was exhausted by the time they left the restaurant – several more toasts and photos and the crowd was almost entirely focused on nursery talk and Matthew Jones’ draft stock by the end of it all – and Emma nearly fell asleep against Killian’s shoulder in the back seat of the cab.

“We’re home, love,” Killian muttered when the car skidded to a stop in front of the building.

She wasn’t sure how they made it out of the car, let alone into the elevator and through their front door, Killian supporting her weight with every step, but his smile didn't falter once.

He pulled her back against him as soon as the door closed, tracing his thumb across her cheek and down her jaw and the slope of her neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“We got married today,” he said softly, a sense of awe in his voice that left Emma breathless just a few feet inside their apartment.

“Good idea, huh?” Emma asked. She pressed her palms flat against his chest, tugging lightly on his tie and it all felt a bit familiar, if not entirely new, all at the same time.

“The best, Swan.”  
  
“Respectable parents for Matthew Jones. Just in under the buzzer.”   
  
“Ah, we would have gotten there eventually. I don’t think he would have minded.”   
  
“That confident, huh?”   
  
Killian smirked at her, hands still tracing over every inch of her and she couldn't quite believe she was still standing. She wasn’t as tired anymore. “Nah, hopeful. There’s a difference.”

“We’re home now,” Emma said and it didn’t really make sense, but she couldn't come up with anything else to say. She knew he understood as soon as the smirk turned into a smile and he kissed her, leaning back against the door to trace his lips against hers, a mess of tongue and teeth and they got _married_. “You know, for someone who was all intent on me sitting down all the time, you’re awfully cool with me standing up now,” Emma muttered.

Killian’s eyes flashed, hands inching dangerously low and tugging on fabric that made it incredibly difficult to stay upright. “You bring up a very good point, love,” he laughed. “I wouldn't want you to be over-exerting yourself.”  
  
She never got a response out, the slightly sarcastic retort getting caught on her tongue as soon as his lips landed just above her collarbone and it was some kind of miracle neither one of them tripped over the other when they moved down the hallway, leaving a trail of clothing in their wake.   
  
They fell asleep eventually – tangled up in sheets and limbs and promises of _indefinite_ lingering in the air.

They got married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hi, surprise wedding! As a human being who planned a wedding on the fly and went to city hall to get my marriage license, like, two days before I got married, this was pretty much exactly how it all happened in my real life too. As always, every click, comment and kudos means the absolute world. 
> 
> Come flail on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	14. Chapter 14

“Cap!”

Killian’s head snapped up, eyes going wide at the sound of Ruby’s voice and the clack of her heels and he was half certain a reporter had been elbowed in the eye when she tried to push their way in front of his locker.

“God,” Ruby hissed. “Get out of the fucking way.”

Will chuckled, stuffing his gloves onto the top shelf and tugging a sweatshirt on over his team-branded t-shirt. “Lucas, you’re going to scare off that guy from _SI_ , they’re doing some kind of super important, feature on Cap.”

“Shut up, Scarlet, jeez,” Ruby glared, shoving another reporter out of the way and the _Sports Illustrated_ guy did look a little scandalized, eyes narrowing and pen flying across his notebook like he was taking stock of the chaos in the New York Rangers locker room. “Now, Cap,” she continued, kicking at his foot for good measure.

He hadn’t taken his skates off yet.

He hadn’t showered yet.

He’d scored two goals and answered questions about some kind of threepeat and tried not to think of the possibility of missing anything in the middle of the home opener, the pre-game walk down an obnoxiously blue carpet feeling just a bit longer than normal when he knew Emma wasn’t there.

Or, at least, wasn’t supposed to be there.

Killian had a suspicion she’d been in her office anyway – walkie talkie in hand and several different lists on her desk. He’d caught sight of Merida at one point, in between signing autographs and posing for photos, hair a bit more wild than normal as she jogged back towards the stands and an anxious looking Mary Margaret.

David, curiously enough, was nowhere to be found.

“Uh, Killian.” He glanced at the voice – the _Sports Illustrated_ reporter and his notebook and, really, who used notebooks anymore? Why was he worried about a reporter’s notebook? Ruby groaned loudly. “Do, you, uh,” he continued, glancing back down at the notes. “Do you want to just talk for a couple of minutes and then I can get out of your hair. I bet you want to shower and, uh, we can just follow-up later this week?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine Andrew,” Killian answered cautiously, hoping the guy’s name was actually Andrew. He was only half listening.

There was, after all, a game to play and a wife to worry about and it was October – three months after the elopement that didn’t really count as an elopement since everyone knew and there was a reason Emma wasn’t supposed to be at opening night.

October meant nine months and nine months meant Matthew Jones.

 _Oh fuck_.

Killian’s thumb skid along the back of his palm, hand suddenly shaking too much to put his wedding ring back on and Ruby made some kind of impossible noise in the back of her throat, something that sounded a bit like _I was trying to tell you_ , as he practically jumped off the bench in front of his locker.

“Got there, huh?” Ruby asked knowingly and he couldn’t breathe.

He was a walking cliché. Well, no, not walking. He couldn’t move. He was frozen to the floor in the Rangers locker room, pads clinging to his skin and hair matted to the back of his neck and the world was spinning far too quickly.

“You should probably shower,” Robin said, nodding at Killian and he still hadn’t moved. Will was practically cackling.

“Cap,” Ruby said slowly, taking a step towards him and he jerked back when her hand landed on his chest. “You’ve got to move. You know, at some point.”  
  
There were still reporters – a semicircle around his locker with phones out and recorders out and Killian could vaguely make out the sound of a camera clicking somewhere. That was probably _Sports Illustrated_.

“Shit,” he breathed and Will laughed even louder, doubling over as he clutched his side. Robin glared at him, taking a step around Killian to smack against his shoulder and mutter _shut up, God_.

Will hummed, smile still plastered on his face when he stood upright. “Right, right,” he said seriously. “Because this isn’t the funniest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.”  
  
Ruby still hadn’t moved her hand and Killian knew he was breathing – he had to be – but there didn’t seem to be much proof that he was thinking, mind going blank before it raced forward, shifting ahead at some kind of impossible speed.

And all he saw was ideas – hopes and _maybes_ that he’d come up with in the better part of the last nine months, a tiny boy with Emma’s eyes and a stick in his hand and it was always snowing. Every time he pictured _it_ , there was always snow on the ground and they were always outside, on a patch of ice in the park with smiles on their faces and laughter hanging in the air and all of it had existed in some weird, nebula of _maybe_ for as long as he could remember.

Until now.

“Shit,” Killian repeated, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes closed like he was trying to wake himself up. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got to go right now.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up dramatically. “Yeah, see, that’s what I’m saying.”  
  
“When?”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“When, Lucas?”  
  
Ruby shook her head, mouth hanging open slightly and her hands were still in the air. The camera clicked again. “Oh my God,” Killian sighed, tugging his pads up over his head and throwing them in a pile at his feet.

“Kristoff’s not going to appreciate that,” Will murmured and Killian glared at him.

“Deep breaths, Cap,” Robin said, hand falling on his shoulder. “Lucas,” he continued, glancing at the slightly stricken media relations director. “He’s asking if Emma was here when she went into labor.”  
  
Killian sagged forward slightly at the word, eyes going wide and it felt like the entire goddamn building had collapsed if the rushing in his ears was anything to go by. Robin’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“Scarlet, go get him a shirt, will you?” Robin asked and Killian wondered when he’d decided to seize control of the entire situation. That was probably for the best. “And, uh, maybe go find, A too. His hands all fucked up.”

Will nodded deftly, a blur of team-branded merchandise and his phone already pressed against his ear. “My hand is fine,” Killian mumbled, tugging it back to his side so the small army of reporters around them wouldn’t start asking questions about the slightly nasty bruise that was blooming just above his wrist.

Robin hummed – a quiet agreement that felt a bit like he was just placating Killian – and Ruby had turned her attention to the scrum, shouting orders and denying requests for comments with practiced ease.

“Out,” she said sharply, pushing on the shoulder of a reporter and waving her other hand in front of a camera when a flash went off. “I’m serious. We’re done. You guys have to go talk to Arthur anyway. Don’t you want to talk to Arthur? Of course you do.”  
  
“She looks like the fucking Pied Piper,” Killian mumbled and Robin chuckled lightly. He still hadn’t moved his hand, but he’d pulled his phone out of his pocket at some point, screen flashing with half a dozen messages.

 _Henry_ kept popping up.

“Yeah, I’m not sure that’s how that story goes,” Robin argued, laughing softly and his phone made another noise. Henry was calling now. “If I walk away from you right now, are you going to actually fall over?”  
  
“No, he’s going to make a goddamn fist,” Ariel shouted, appearing in the room as quickly as if she’d teleported there and for a group of people who, just a few minutes ago, wanted him to move, Killian suddenly felt like they were all one, giant obstacle.  

“Red, we don’t have time for this,” Killian sighed.

“Can you not walk and make a fist at the same time? Because if you can’t do that then we’ve got even bigger problems on our hands. Ha, I made a joke.”  
  
“Ariel.”  
  
She widened her eyes meaningfully, pulling her hand away from his side and Killian hissed when she pressed her thumb against his wrist. “Jeez, relax,” she muttered. “She’s fine. They all went with her anyway.”  
  
“What?”

Killian’s head whipped back towards Ruby – an apologetic look on her face and the reporters were all gone, but Robin’s muted voice just a few feet away sounded like he was actually interrogating Henry.

“Middle of the third period,” Ruby said, finally answering Killian’s question.

He sighed, running his free hand through his hair and Ariel kept pressing her thumb against his palm, pushing his ring back down his finger. “She wasn’t supposed to be here,” Killian grumbled and Ruby shrugged.

“Ah, well, opening night. There was blue carpet to worry about. How did you not know she was here? Didn’t you leave at the same time?”  
  
“No,” Killian shook his head. They hadn’t. He’d left two hours before he was supposed to be on the ice for morning skate, Emma wrapped up in blankets and a small mountain of pillows behind her back, several stacks of paper taking over his side of the bed.

He hadn’t wanted to go.

It was, per the calendar on the wall, _any day now_ territory and the last few preseeason games had been nothing short of terrifying, the prospect of _missing something_ lingering in the back of Killian’s mind for the past week.

He hadn’t scored until the home opener. There was probably a cliché there. He’d have to ask Mrs. Vankald.

Oh shit – the Vankalds. Someone should call the Vankalds. He should call the Vankalds. And Liam and El and Anna and maybe David and Mary Margaret? No, no, they were at the game.

“Cap, you can’t flex your hand like that,” Ariel mumbled, prying his fingers apart and Killian blinked twice, refocusing on Ruby.

“I knew she’d try to get here,” Killian said, but there was a sense of pride in his voice that was probably obvious, even to the reporters sitting in post-game with Arthur.

“Of course she did,” Ruby grinned. “Waited until after you scored too. Something poetic about that, huh?”  
  
Killian sighed, but his pulse had picked up at some point and Robin was still mumbling on the phone.

A kid.

They were going to have a kid.

Killian smiled at Ruby, eyebrows lifted slightly and, well, there was something vaguely poetic about it. Maybe they’d let him keep that puck. He’d have to ask Kristoff.

“Here,” Will said suddenly, tossing a t-shirt in Killian’s direction. “Where’s Locksley? Why aren’t we leaving yet?”  
  
“We can leave now,” Robin answered. “Or, we should leave now.” Killian stared at him, a hundred questions on the tip of his tongue and Robin just nodded at him, twisting his lips when he tried to make a sound that was supposed to be encouraging.

“Should?” Killian repeated, a flash of terror shooting down his spine. She wasn’t supposed to be at the Garden. He shouldn’t have played. He should have been home and she should have been home and he should have been there when it happened.

Robin nodded again. “Henry said they got to the hospital like fifteen minutes ago. The doctors are in there now, and, uh, I guess we’ve got some leeway time-wise, but we should go. Put a shirt on, Cap.”  
  
“Henry’s there?” Killian asked and Robin chuckled lightly.

“David and Mary Margaret too. David is, and I’m quoting here, completely freaking out.”  
  
Ariel laughed softly, knocking her knuckles on Killian’s shoulder and he still hadn’t actually put a shirt on. Or taken his skates off. “You smell terrible,” she muttered. “And your hand is fine. How did that even happen?”  
  
“I just played a hockey game, Red,” Killian said, running his hand across his face. “God, where are my jeans?”  
  
“Cap, you didn’t wear jeans,” Will answered. He pushed a pair of dress pants into Killian’s hands and kicked his shoes closer to him. “Happy home opener.”  
  
It took an almost inexcusable amount of time to get his skates off, fingers trembling just a bit with anxiety and excitement and he had to squeeze his eyes closed at least three different times to try and keep his breathing even.

There was a car waiting for them outside the team entrance – he’d have to thank Regina at some point – and Killian somehow ended up in the middle of the backseat, Ariel and Robin on either side of him.

Will propped his feet on the dashboard, earning a quiet reprimand from Ruby as leaned into the backseat. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she promised. “Tell Em... “ She sighed loudly, shoulders heaving slightly with the force of it and Killian couldn’t even bring himself to make fun of the slightly glossy eyes in front of him.

“It’ll be fine,” he said, not sure if he was trying to convince himself or Ruby.

Ruby grinned, tapping her finger against his wedding ring. “Of course it will. You guys are...agh, whatever, sentiment is stupid. Make sure you let her know you won. She wanted to know what the score was when she left, probably texted you in the back of the goddamn car.”  
  
Killian nodded, mouth just a bit dry and smile tugging on the ends of his mouth. “Probably,” he agreed and he couldn’t think of a single thing he’d ever loved more than Emma Swan.

“Go be an awesome dad,” Ruby finished and Will’s foot fell off the dash.  
  
She slammed the door shut and Killian’s stomach flipped. Or maybe his heart sped up. And his lungs felt like they were shrinking and expanding.

None of it made sense.

They were going to have a kid.

Will was talking a mile a minute in the front seat, planning Matthew Jones’ life and his college options and the merits of being a defender in the National Hockey League and Killian didn’t hear any of it. He twisted slightly, trying to pull his phone out of his pocket without Robin or Ariel noticing.

It didn’t work – he could practically feel their eyes meet over the top of his head, knew they were staging some sort of unspoken conversation and, probably, just a bit concerned about his current mental state.

There were several dozen text messages – Mary Margaret must have updated the entire Vankald family, both Elsa and Anna demanding updates and status and time in between contractions and Mrs. Vankald had left a voicemail.

Killian barely stopped scrolling long enough to notice any of them, thumb tracing down the screen and Ruby had absolutely been right. He knew she was.

Emma had absolutely texted him in the backseat of the car.

**Hey, so...I broke the rules. And I know you know because Mer was absolutely terrified you were just going to start yelling on the carpet pre-game. But breaking the rules also means I’ve kind fucked up our schedule here.**

**You see where I’m going with this?** **  
**  
**I hope so. Otherwise this is weird. And you’re on the ice still. Nice shot, by the way. Totally froze that goalie.**

**Henry said it’s because the Islanders are crap again. They are, but it was a nice shot too. Good first goal of the season.**

**Oh fuck. God, did the websites you read mention how much this fucking hurts? Like a lot. A shit ton.**

Killian froze, thumb hovering over the top of the screen and he could feel Robin staring at him, heard the soft crack of his jaw when he opened his mouth to ask if everything was alright and he just brushed him off.

There were two more text messages.

**Anyway. David and Reese’s are here and Regina took Rol home, but he thought it was a good goal too. And we’re leaving. Left. Past tense. Have left. Ruby’s supposed to pull you out of post.**

**I know I was supposed to be home when this happened and you were supposed to be home and the schedule’s all fucked, but...we really want you here.**

He dropped his phone and Robin did ask _are you ok_ and _everything alright_ and Killian nodded slowly, heart, apparently, trying to work its way out of his chest.

“Drive faster,” he said, not sure if they could or how they’d get twenty blocks downtown with so much traffic on a Friday night, but he was absolutely positive he didn’t care.

Will chuckled and Robin leaned back against the seat, resting his head on the edge with a smile on his face. Ariel took a picture, muttering something about play-by-play and Colorado and Killian, almost, didn’t care about that either.

“Sure thing, Cap,” the driver agreed, weaving through cars, his hand never leaving the horn until they worked their way out of Chelsea.

“You’ll be fine,” Robin promised, leaning forward to push Killian’s phone back in his hand.

It took half an hour to get downtown and Killian’s ears were ringing from the sound of honking horns and near accidents and none of it mattered when he practically sprinted through the automatic doors of the hospital.

He didn’t know where to go.

They were there and he had no idea where to go – David hadn’t answered his goddamn phone.

“Come on, Cap,” Ariel said, nudging her shoulder into his. “There’s got to be a hotel directory somewhere. Or, you know, something for you to do than just pretend to be some kind of statue in the middle of the doorway.”  
  
“Ah, at least he’s promoting the team though,” Will muttered, shooting a smile over his shoulder when he brushed past both of them. “Emma’ll like that. Relating to the community even through impending fatherhood. Insert cliché about taking one for the team here.”  
  
Killian couldn’t even muster a _shut up, Scarlet_ , far too focused on finding a human being who knew where Emma would be.

Or, rather, just Emma.

He just wanted to find Emma.

It felt a bit like those car horns – her name playing on a loop through his head until he was almost certain the letters were pounding on the inside of his brain, some kind of ridiculous mantra that he hoped would just set him moving in the right direction.

“There’s got to be a receptionist right?” Killian asked, gaze darting towards Ariel who nodded, supportive smile on her face like she was encouraging her eight-month old to stop throwing toys across the room.

“You want us to split up, Cap?” Will asked, mouth twisting slightly and Ariel hit him. The two of them glared at each other for half a moment and he wasn’t sure if that’s what did it – the fighting and the arguing and this stupid _team_ , but Killian’s feet were moving before he’d even realized he’d decided, walking towards a waiting area and a woman in patterned scrubs.

She gasped softly when she realized who he was.

“Oh,” she mumbled, nearly knocking a chart off the desk in front of her and the sound of Ariel smacking Will again were only dimly noticeable over the rest of the waiting room. “You’re Killian Jones.”  
  
“I’m looking for my wife,” Killian said, bypassing greetings and anything even resembling polite. He just wanted to find Emma.

The woman's eyes widened and for one, vaguely terrifying moment Killian’s mind darted to all the things that could have been wrong, everything that could have happened in the half an hour it took to get downtown and David had never answered his phone.

There were shoes behind him suddenly and footsteps and two hands on his either one of his shoulders and they probably looked as ridiculous as Killian felt – Robin and Will flanking him and all three of them in a ridiculous amount of team-branded merchandise.

“He’s freaking out,” Will muttered traitorously, flashing the woman a conspiratorial smile.

Robin groaned loudly. “Emma Swan,” he added. “Probably came in about an hour ago. Two other people with her, teenage kid too.”  
  
“Absurdly pregnant,” Will continued. “Also likely shouting.”  
  
The woman stared at them, eyes still wide when she started typing and the computer in front of her made a noise that, apparently, it wasn’t supposed to. “Emma Swan?” she repeated and Robin nodded. “There’s no one here under that name.”

“What?” Will snapped, leaning over the counter like he was going to teach the computer some kind of lesson. Emma-protection mode, activated. “How is that possible? We’re in the right spot, aren’t we? God, listen, if you lost Emma, Cap’s probably going to rampage through this whole hospital.”

The woman shrugged slightly, tongue darting over her lips as her eyes bounced between all three New York Rangers in front of her.

Oh.

“Jones,” Killian said quickly and both hands fell off his shoulders. He could feel a pair of incredulous stares boring into the side of his head and he shifted on his feet, trying not to actually stutter over the words. “It’s, uh, she probably used Jones.”  
  
There was more clicking and a slightly different computer noise and the woman’s eyes weren’t quite as dangerously wide when she looked at them again. “Third floor. 331. Follow the yellow line on the ground until you hit the corner, take a left, another left and you should be right there.”  
  
Killian nodded, half turned towards the stairs with Will and Robin on his heels when he heard _good luck, Cap_ echoing behind him.

He took the stairs two at a time – Ariel shouting to _slow down, jeez, you’re going to pull something_. He didn’t.

He practically jumped over the fucking last step.

“Yellow line, yellow line,” Killian muttered as soon as his feet hit the third floor and it wasn’t quite as loud there as it had been before, everything feeling a bit slower and more important and this was real. This was happening.

Mary Margaret found them first – she was probably waiting for them – leaping out of the seat she’d been slumped in and tugging on a fist-full of Killian’s t-shirt as soon as she reached him. “Is everything…” he started and Mary Margaret beamed at him.

“Go,” she said, nodding towards the room next to them. “You might have to fight David though. He’s gone full dad-mode.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s kind of my gig now,” Killian muttered before he could stop himself and Mary Margaret’s smile got even bigger. She pressed up on her toes, kissing his cheek quickly before pushing him bodily into the room with so much force he nearly stumbled over his own feet.

God, there were a lot of machines – everything beeping and the TV on in the background and David sitting in a chair next to Emma’s bed, reading something off his phone that sounded like in-game stats.

The floor creaked slightly when Robin and Will leaned against the door frame and David stopped talking abruptly, twisting around in the chair.

And it felt like everything stopped – frozen in the middle of a hospital room with an absurd amount of machines and half a hockey team a few feet away. Emma tilted her head when her eyes met his, the smile on her face shooting straight through Killian, like it had landed right in the center of _him_ or something equally absurd.

“Nice shot,” she said, gritting her teeth tightly as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

Killian moved out of instinct, hand wrapped tightly around hers in an instant and Emma glared at the bruise on his wrist. “It’s fine, Swan,” he said softly, left hand reaching up to brush away the hair that had fallen across her forehead. “I’m fine.”  
  
“That makes three of us.”  
  
He nearly fell over. And he wasn’t sure who squeezed the other’s hand harder, trying to will every single human emotion into one movement.

“Yeah?” Killian asked and his voice felt like it scratched his throat.

Emma nodded. “I mean, saying better now seems pretty lame, right? So, yeah, we’re fine.”  
  
“The doctor?”  
  
“Around,” Emma shrugged and he sighed softly. She’d done it for the reaction. He knew it. “Was here a few minutes ago. Apparently we’re almost to the active stage, which sounded kind of menacing, but means there’s epidural options. So, you know, cool.”  
  
“Cool,” he repeated. He should probably stop doing that. He should probably remember a few other words. Or maybe sit down. He couldn’t sit down.

David had started reading hockey stats again.

“Uh, David,” Killian interrupted and Emma’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “I, uh, I got it. I was there. I can relay stats pretty easily.”  
  
It wasn’t the _get out_ it probably should have been, but David seemed to understand, nodding slowly as he stood up. He kissed the top of Emma’s forehead, mumbling something under his breath that left her laughing slightly, body shaking on top of another pile of pillows.

“How’d you get so many pillows?” Killian asked after David left, nodding towards the collection behind her back.

“David stole them.”  
  
“Stole them?  
  
Emma nodded. “Went on some kind of room-to-room search, demanding their pillows for a needy expectant mother with back issues. It was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.”  
  
Killian barked out a laugh, but he was still standing up, shuffling his weight between his feet and trying to remind himself how _fine_ all of this was going to be.

“Sit,” Emma said. “You’re freaking me out.”  
  
“I’m freaking you out?” Killian asked and they were back to repeating. Emma twisted her eyebrows slightly, one side of her mouth pulled up at the challenge and Killian ran his hand through his hair, tugging tightly on the back so he wouldn’t start just yelling words at her.

“What happened to your hand?”  
  
“Got hit in the last couple of minutes. They pulled the goalie. Was trying to get the puck out of the corner.”  
  
Emma hummed in understanding and she couldn’t really cross her arms, but she had a tight hold on the sheet. “I didn’t see that part.”  
  
“So I heard.”  
  
She sighed softly, head sagging forward and he’d jumped so quickly from _frustrated_ to _worried_ , he was certain he actually had whiplash. Killian’s hand darted forward again, pulling her fingers away from low-thread count fabric and Emma’s eyes widened slightly at the vaguely ridiculous overreaction.

“Jeez, stand down,” she muttered, but there was a smile on her face again. “Still as fine as promised.”  
  
“Swan…”  
  
Emma clicked her tongue, squeezing his hand again and tracing her thumb over a raised scar, moving up towards his ring. “I totally fucked up, huh?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re mad I was there,” she said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Mer said you looked somewhere close to terrifying on the carpet. She couldn't find a single picture of you where you weren’t glowering.”  
  
“Glowering?”  
  
“Her word.”  
  
“I wasn’t glowering, love,” Killian argued, tilting his head when Emma tried to shift to the side of the bed so he could sit on the edge. “God, Emma, stop moving. You’re going to hurt yourself.”  
  
“That doesn’t even make any sense.”  
  
“Just...stop.”  
  
“Ok, I know you’re mad I was there and I wasn’t supposed to be and I knew, _I knew_ , everything was going to be fine,” she started, rushing over the words like she was nervous he was going to interrupt her if she didn’t. “And I get that. I shouldn’t have been there, but I wanted to make sure everything worked and the pictures went up and…”  
  
She trailed off slowly, huffing out her breath and staring at him with a distinct challenge in her gaze. “What?” Killian asked.

“I couldn't miss the home opener,” Emma whispered. “I mean, we’ve won every year and you guys were going to raise another banner and I couldn't...I know I wasn’t supposed to. There were rules about _taking it easy_ or something absurdly old fashioned, but, well, I wanted to be there.”

He gaped at her, twisting slightly so he could try and meet her gaze or maybe kiss her and he didn’t get a chance – Emma wincing and squeezing his hand again and he hadn’t really been timing, but that seemed very close to the last one.

Active stage.

That’s what the website had called it.

“Swan,” he mumbled and she shook her head tightly, eyes squeezed shut. Her grip on his hand was probably doing damage to his blood flow. And that bruise just above his wrist – right where her thumb had landed.

“Don’t be mad,” she said, hissing out the words through her teeth and there was a knock on the door, the hinges creaking slightly when it opened.

Killian brushed his lips over the top of her hair, free hand finding the back of her neck and the curve of her shoulders and she thought she’d fucked up. They were the two dumbest people in the entire goddamn world.

“I’m not,” Killian promised and Emma made a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat. “I promise, love. I was...terrified.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re right. You totally weren’t supposed to be there, but I knew you were and I knew why you were. That doesn’t change the fact, however, that I wasn’t there.”

The doctor had shown up at some point and was, quite clearly, trying to do her job – muttering instructions and something about shifting Emma’s feet and the time in between contractions – but neither one of them moved, staring at each other with something that felt a bit like wonder.

“I don’t understand,” Emma admitted.

Killian took a deep breath, the knot of _something_ that had been wrapped around several of his internal organs since Ruby found him in post loosening just a bit. “I wasn’t there, Swan,” he sighed. “I should have been there when it happened. Not on the ice, God. What would have happened if it had been last week?” He shook his head slowly, laughing in spite of himself and Emma stared at him like she’d never quite seen him before.

“I want…” Killian continued slowly, “I want to be there for everything, Swan. And I already wasn’t. The very first thing and I was playing a game.”  
  
She blinked once, tears falling down her cheeks and her mouth opened twice before she spoke again. “I can’t actually kiss you because you’ll probably tell me it isn’t safe or something stupid,” she said with a watery laugh. “And you didn’t miss anything. Nothing’s happened.”  
  
“Emma.”  
  
“No, no, we’re not doing that,” she said, pushing a finger against his arm. “You are...you’re not missing anything. And I know you won’t. I know you’re here.”  
  
“Indefinitely,” he promised and Emma nodded.

“Yeah, that was kind of the plan.”

It took six hours and forty-two minutes.

They were, easily, the longest and shortest six hours and forty-two minutes of his entire life.

Active stage had, apparently, been some kind of lie and Emma had rolled her whole head at that particular bit of news, grumbling under breath when the doctor promised an epidural soon.

Soon, however, was two hours later and then more waiting and then _active_ and he didn’t move away from Emma’s side once, hand practically glued to hers.

_Six hours and forty-two minutes._

Six hours and forty-two minutes later and there was crying in that hospital room, a noise that seemed to seep into every inch of him and through him and then back in – just to make sure that it hit all those dark, desperate spots that never believed he deserved any of it.

Emma slumped back on the pillows, hair sticking to her forehead and tears in her own eyes and Killian had lost track of all of his emotions, a mess of happy and overwhelmed and fighting the urge to scream about how goddamn lucky he was for the rest of his life.

They’d taken the baby away as soon as he’d started crying – the websites said they would – and Killian couldn’t pull his eyes away from the doctor, back turned and bent over a baby that didn’t have an officially announced gender.

Emma squeezed Killian’s hand, not quite as tight as it had been six hours and forty-two minutes before, and he bent down to kiss across her temple, brushing his lips over her forehead and the bridge of her nose and her mouth, tracing out some kind of nonsensical pattern over her entire face while he mumbled out every compliment he could think of.

 _Brilliant. Perfect. Incredible. Amazing_.

He felt her smile against his cheek, hand coming up to rest on his forearm. “Is he ok?” she asked softly and Killian nodded before he could stop himself.

“Of course he is.”  
  
The doctor coughed quietly behind them and the crying hadn’t stopped yet. “Mr. and Mrs. Jones?” They snapped around at the sound and Killian was never going to stop smiling. Ever. Even if they didn’t win another game the rest of the season.

He ran into the waiting room ten minutes later, chest heaving as he rested his hand on the back of one of the plastic chairs. They were all still there – Ruby and Mary Margaret each with a head on one of David’s shoulders and Regina had brought Roland back at some point, both of them curled up against Robin while Henry and Will were sprawled out across two rows of seats, team-branded sweatshirts under their head.

Robin woke up first and Killian refused to even consider all the reasons for _that_ , something about game-day schedules and spending far too much time together. He blinked blearily when he looked up, running a hand across his face, but his eyes widened as soon as he saw Killian standing there.

“Yeah?” Robin asked.

Killian nodded, a shaky laugh working its way out of his chest while he tried to stay upright. “It’s a boy.”  
  
“Class of 2036,” Robin said, glancing over his shoulder. “Scarlet,” he hissed. “Scarlet, wake up.”  
  
Will groaned, knocking his sweatshirt on the ground when he swung his legs off the seat. “What happened?” His head moved like it was on a swivel, darting between Killian and Robin and back to Killian. “Cap?”  
  
“Matthew Jones,” Killian said, a rush of pride shooting through his whole body.

“Holy shit.”  
  
Exactly.

Roland shifted against Robin, a soft grumble at the idea of being woken up, and Killian had no idea what time it was. It must have been early. Or late.

Six hours and forty-two minutes.

“Go,” Robin said, nodding back to the yellow line and Emma was a few away holding their son. They had a _son_. “We’ll wake ‘em all up and bring them in soon’ish.”  
  
Killian barely even nodded before moving back towards the half-open door around the corner, pushing open slowly and his breath caught in his throat when he took in the sight in front of him.

She was still holding him – Matthew Jones cradled against Emma and wrapped in a hospital-provided blanket that they’d have to switch out for the one Mary Margaret bought them before she came into the room. Emma didn’t move her head when he walked in, but the quirk of her lips made it obvious she knew he was there, finger tracing over the curve of Matthew’s arm and around his elbow.

“Any of them awake?” she asked, eyes darting towards Killian.

“Locksley and Scarlet.”  
  
“Figured as much.” Emma glanced up at him and all those organs that had been tied up and tied down and just a bit too close to self-deprecating a few hours earlier, felt like they were going to burst, emotion flooding every inch of his system.

“He stopped crying,” he muttered, leaning forward to brush his thumb across the top of a foot. God, he was tiny.

“Seems like a win already.”  
  
“Parents of the year. We should get a trophy.”  
  
“Put it in the kitchen.”  
  
Killian laughed softly, kissing the top of Emma’s hair and if this was it, if this was as good as it ever got, then he’d never be able to come up with a single complaint or regret.

“I love you so much,” he said, words mumbled against her forehead. Emma sighed, resting her head on his chest and he could hear footsteps on the other side of the door.

“I love you too.”

Mary Margaret knocked. Of course she did.

Emma laughed against his stomach, closing her eyes lightly, but there was still a smile on her face and no one had woken Matthew up yet.

Parents of the year.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret whispered, twisting around the doorframe with a hopeful expression on her face. “Can we see him?”  
  
Emma nodded, eyes just a bit glossy when Mary Margaret and David walked into the room. “Oh,” Mary Margaret breathed, hand finding David’s immediately. “He’s...oh, Emma.”  
  
“That’s super articular, Reese’s.”  
  
“Matthew,” she whispered, reaching out a cautious hand towards the blanket they hadn’t actually changed.. “Hey, Matthew.”

“Matthew Jones,” David repeated slowly and it sounded like he was testing out the name. “It’ll look good on the Cup.”

Emma glanced at Killian, lip tugged tightly in between her teeth and he nodded in response to her unspoken question.

They hadn’t told anyone that part yet.

David’s head snapped between them, eyes narrowed just a bit as he rested his hand on Mary Margaret’s shoulder. “What?” he asked.

“You didn’t ask his full name,” Emma muttered. David froze – detectives were, after all, good at picking up on clues. And Mary Margaret was somewhere in the realm of weeping, tears streaming down her face, leaving streaks through her slightly smudged eyeliner.

Emma rolled her shoulders, sitting up a bit straighter and it all felt incredibly official. “Matthew David Jones,” she said, emphasizing every letter and every syllable and no one said anything for what felt like several decades.  
  
Matthew had probably already been drafted.

David shook his head, exhaling loudly and he didn’t even try to hide the tears on his cheeks. “Em,” he said, a stunned sound that seemed to echo off the walls.

“Thanks, Dad,” Emma mumbled and the whole room was a mess – red eyes and tear-stained faces and Ariel had worked her way in at some point, camera shutter clicking in the somehow still-silent space.

Mary Margaret sniffled, dragging her knuckles underneath her eyes and Emma let out a shaky laugh, shifting the baby in her arms slightly. That woke him up – and the silent space wasn’t quite so silent anymore, filled with cries and half the Rangers roster and demands from all of them to see the baby and hold the baby and provide the baby with tips on how best to hold a hockey stick.

They were all ushered out half an hour later, promises of updates if anything monumental managed to happen in the next day and none of them looked particularly awake, but they’d all stayed. They’d all waited.

And there were murmurs of _congratulations_ and a few more photos and promises that he’d _go first overall_ before they did actually leave, Scarlet actually pushed out the door by a very determined nurse, and Killian sank onto the corner of the bed as soon as the door closed behind them.

“We did it,” Emma mumbled, head falling against his shoulder and there wasn’t nearly enough space in that bed for her, let alone both of them and a baby on her chest, but he’d be damned if any of them moved.

“He’s perfect, Swan.”  
  
“You’ll get no arguments from me.”  
  
“Good. I’m too tired for that.”

She scoffed, burrowing her head further against his neck and Killian’s hand fell on Matthew’s back. His legs were tangled up with Emma’s and the sheets and it all kind of hit him at once – almost like getting checked into the boards the night before.

He’d told her once – wrapped up in different sheets and a different bed on the other side of the country – that she was _it_ , everything he’d ever thought he’d wanted in some kind of mythical happy ending, he’d found in Emma.

And he hadn’t been lying.

He’d meant it then with every ounce of him, every part of him that was so completely in love with her, he couldn’t ever quite believe it.

It wasn’t even remotely close to enough. Not if _this_ was it. If this was it, if this was _happily ever after_ , then Killian couldn’t even come up with the words to describe it, couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact adjective to describe the feeling and getting everything he wanted might be selfish, but it felt pretty damn good too.

“He’s going to BU,” Emma muttered sleepily. “So you should probably just tell Locksley that now. You guys are both going to lose your bet.

“Go to sleep, love.”  
  
“You’re only saying that because you know I’m right.”  
  
“You want to bet?”  
  
“Sure. Stakes.”  
  
“Nothing, Swan,” Killian answered honestly and Emma made a noise in the back of her throat at the abrupt shift from banter. “There’s not anything else left to get. And I’m not betting on any of this.”

“Sap,” she accused.

He hummed in agreement. “We’ve got a kid, Swan.”

“A perfect one.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“I am kind of exhausted.”  
  
“Go to sleep, love,” Killian repeated. “I’ll be here.”

* * *

“This is easily the dumbest idea we've ever come up with,” Emma grumbled, hissing the words into the phone and Killian had to agree with her.

“Tradition, Swan. It’s supposed to be tradition.”  
  
“It’s stupid.”  
  
“You married a superstitious athlete, Swan, I don’t know what you expected.”  
  
“Exactly,” she snapped and Killian’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “We’re already married. This is some kind of weird, formality so our friends get off our backs.”  
  
Killian shifted, stretching his legs across the mattress and the bed was frustratingly large without another person next to him. “What? You don’t want to get married again? That’s romantic, love. Plus half of this idea was Mary Margaret’s, I refuse to take full blame for it.”  
  
“Yeah, well, she’s just as stupid.”  
  
“Sentiment.”  
  
Emma groaned, a bed creaking on her end of the phone. “They have given me the bed,” she admitted. “Something about getting beauty sleep or something absurd. We. Are. Already. Married. For two years! Almost two years. Whatever. Two years, Killian!”

“I’ve been here, Swan.”  
  
“You are impossible,” she sighed.

“And rumor has it your dress is somewhere close to incredible.”  
  
“Stop gossiping with Ruby.”  
  
“You know what my tux looks like,” he accused, grabbing another pillow to prop under his head and it was far too quiet in the apartment as well. That seemed like a problem. Killian sat up, eyebrows pulled low like he was waiting for the inevitable explosion or crash and it came five seconds later a shrill _da_ coming from the room across the hall.

“There it is,” Killian muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and Emma sighed softly on the other end of the phone.

“Dumbest. Idea. Ever.”

“He was asleep,” he reasoned.

“Was being the operative word here. And I know about your tux because Ruby doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut.”

There was another cry – this one a bit more desperate than it had been before and Killian gripped the phone a little tighter when Emma made a noise in the back of her throat. “It’s fine, love,” he promised, but he was trying to reassure himself as well.

It was the dumbest idea in the history of the world.

“What’s the matter, Matt?” Killian asked, shuffling cautiously through the line of toys and Rangers gear and a, frankly, absurd amount of hockey sticks.

Everyone kept buying him hockey sticks.

It didn’t make sense at all.

They were all four feet taller than him.

“Mama?” Matt asked, eyes wide and hands gripping the blanket in his hands tightly.

Killian swallowed, the note of terror in Matt’s voice catching him off-guard and maybe they shouldn’t have done this.

He hadn’t really wanted to – the prospect of sleeping in that giant bed with too many pillows not entirely appealing at first consideration – but Mary Margaret had been adamant, something about _tradition_ and _the rules_ and Emma’s jaw had tightened when she’d referred to it as _the do-over wedding_.

It wasn’t a do-over anything.

It was an excuse to get dressed up and give into friends and family who’d been asking for two years. It was a repeat, that was all, a wedding defense that felt a bit like a penalty kill at the same time, fighting against the sheer force of Mary Margaret and Ruby’s combined will when it came to tradition and dresses.

So, they’d agreed to most of it – there would only be four appetizer choices – and nodded their heads at the prospect of sleeping in two different apartments before they got married. Again.

“She's just gone for tonight,” Killian promised, sinking onto the edge of Matt’s bed as he tried to pull his fingers away from the blanket.

Matthew made a noise that seemed to scream _unconvinced_ and Killian’s heart hammered against his chest. “She’s with M’s and Uncle David. So that she can get ready with them before tomorrow.”

The explanation didn't really work, far too many complex words for a sixteen-month-old toddler who seemed determined to try and rip Killian's shirt apart, but there were some garbled noises in response and the tears seemed to be slowing. 

Killian hummed and Emma laughed several dozen blocks away. “We’ve explained this,” she mumbled, clearly trying to keep her voice low.

“It doesn’t appear to have sunk in,” Killian said softly, what felt like a glove sticking into the bottom of his spine.

“Retract that parent of the year, two years running trophy.”  
  
Killian scoffed under his breath and it was definitely a glove, one of the fingers bending when he tried to lean against the wall behind him. “Here, come here, kid,” he said, twisting his body in some impossible angle so Matt could crawl against his side, a pretzel of arms and legs that, somehow, both seemed to threaten hitting him in the face.

Matt mumbled another string of sounds, something that sounded suspiciously a lot like  _M's_ and Killian was slightly stunned at his son’s apparent ability to repeat words back verbatim.

“You hear that diction, Swan?” he mumbled and he could practically hear _Emma_ rolling her eyes.

“Speaker,” she said sharply and Killian stuttered at the tone of her voice. There wasn’t much room for argument.

“Swan.”  
  
“Swan?” Matt asked knowingly. He was far too wide awake for whatever time it was. They seemed to be going backwards.

The phone clicked and Killian pulled back quickly, staring at a blank screen. She’d hung up. He was half a breath away from calling Emma back - ringtone in Mary Margaret and David’s loft be damned – when his phone started to ring, her photo flashing across the screen and he was smiling before he realized.

She was goddamn brilliant.

Matthew yelled, blanket forgotten in his determination to try and climb up Killian’s side and pry the phone out of his hands. Nearly two years and two seasons of hockey later and Matthew Jones might be the most advanced toddler in the entire world – at least when it came to FaceTiming his parents.

Road trips were, now, nothing short of torture.

“Hey, Mattie,” Emma smiled as soon as Killian swiped his thumb across the screen and the boy’s eyes light up in the dim glow of the phone.

“Ma,” he shouted, arms tightening around Killian’s neck.

“How come you’re awake?”  
  
Matt made a noise, burrowing his head into Killian’s shoulder and he wrapped his arms tightly around him, trying to hold him against his body while keeping a grip on the phone. Emma sighed softly and this wasn’t just a dumb idea, it was idiotic and stupid and they were _already married_.

“That’s not a very specific answer,” Emma muttered, a wry smile on her face that looked like she was trying to avoid falling directly into disappointment.

“I think he misses someone,” Killian said. Matt made another noise, a mix of a whine and an agreement and it was after midnight.

Emma scrunched her nose, holding the phone a bit closer to her face like she was trying to will herself several dozen blocks away. “That’s why I left after he fell asleep,” she grumbled. “You’ve got to go to sleep now, Mattie, ok? And try not to choke Dad.”  
  
Killian rolled his eyes, but Matt didn’t let go of his neck, a knee finding its way into his side for good measure. Matt mumbled something against the collar of his shirt and Killian tried to will the glove out of his back. There was no getting away from it.

“Matt,” Killian started slowly, sitting up to try and disentangle the limbs from his body. He was met with wide eyes – bright green and so like Emma’s it sometimes left him just a bit breathless. They, those eponymous people who knew what his kid looked like, were always quick to point out how much Matthew looked like Killian – dark hair and a very specific set of his jaw already that Elsa claimed would be perfect for intimidating goalies – but he never really noticed much of that.

Killian always noticed the eyes, staring up at him like he was the greatest thing to ever lace up skates.

“What if Mom came home?” he continued and Matt’s eyes, somehow, got wider, mouth dropping open like he was about to start yelling or possibly jumping on the bed. There wasn’t enough room for that. Killian’s legs took up most of the space.

Or like he understood those very specific string of words in that very specific order.   
  
“What do you say, Swan?” Killian asked, lifting one eyebrow and tugging Matt back against his side. Eventually they’d get him to learn how to smirk and they’d be able to take over the world. “Think you can stage a jailbreak?”

“I’m going to tell Reese’s you said that.”

Killian shrugged. “Come home, love. You’re right, this is stupid.”  
  
Emma didn’t say anything for a moment, lips twisted in thought as she glanced towards the living room where Mary Margaret and David were, likely, sleeping. She nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I want to do that.”  
  
She found them back in their bedroom – Matt draped across Killian’s stomach, with his head resting on his chest.

“I left a note,” Emma whispered, toeing out of her shoes and dropping her bag lightly on the floor. “Like I was sixteen and sneaking out of my parents house.”  
  
“Just think what a good story this makes, Swan,” Killian reasoned. “Perfect to tell the grandkids.”  
  
“Are we onto grandkids now? I hadn’t realized we time-jumped.”  
  
“Just planning, love.”  
  
“Yeah? And will this plan also require a lot of sentiment and stupid, antiquated traditions that don’t make sense for people who have been married for two years?”  
  
Killian stared at her, smile tugging on the corners of his mouth and bad luck be damned. It didn’t matter. He wanted to sleep next to his wife before they got married. Again.

“No,” he promised. “None of that.”  
  
“Trying to fall asleep without you sucked.”  
  
“It always does, Swan.”  
  
“So let’s not do that anymore, ok?”  
  
“Ok.”

Mary Margaret hadn’t been angry – shrugging and promising she _totally knew_ Emma was going to end up back home by the end of the night. Killian laughed, the sound making his whole body shake as David pulled him towards one side of the loft, Matt trailing along behind them. Or, at least, he tried.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Killian muttered, pulling out David’s grasp to lean forward and kiss Emma as quickly as he could. “See you later, Swan.”  
  
“Jones,” she corrected softly, tugging on the bottom of the t-shirt he still had on. “For the last two years. Get with it, Cap.”

“I’ll see you at the altar, Mrs. Jones.”  
  
David sighed loudly, hitching Matt farther up his side and grabbing Killian’s shoulder tightly. “This is gross,” he muttered. “Come on.”

He didn’t complain once – not during the photos or while trying to get a one-and-a-half year old into a tux and a tie and into a seat with Mary Margaret when Killian took up his designated spot at the altar.

That last part didn’t last long, Matt crawling over Mary Margaret to get out of the seat and he stumbled up the aisle, nearly tripping over the white runner before Killian ducked down and grabbed him around the waist.

“Dad, dad, dad, dad,” Matt chanted, kicking his feet out like he was trying to settle into a skating rhythm. “Up. Up. Up!”

Mary Margaret sighed loudly, resting her head in her hand and Killian tugged Matt up, draping him across his shoulder in the way he knew would work a laugh out of him. It did.

And Killian’s heart nearly stopped.

Although he wasn’t sure if that was from the sound of his son or his wife at the end of the aisle, a small smile just visible through the veil over her face and Ruby had absolutely been lying. The dress wasn’t incredible.

 _She_ was incredible and it was, easily, the most sentimental thing Killian had ever thought, but he couldn’t stop staring at her, smile settling on his face and laughter ringing in his ear and Emma’s shoulders moved slightly when she took a deep breath.

Matt kicked his side, the toe of his shoe probably leaving a scuff mark on Killian’s jacket and Emma tugged her lip in between her teeth, head tilting at the sight in front of her. David kept her hand trained in his, twisting their arms up together and Killian would have to have a talk with Mary Margaret about the length of the aisle.

Matt tried to move – Killian grimacing slightly when his shoe landed in the vicinity of his thigh and a very large bruise that was still purple after blocking a shot two weeks before. “Ma,” Matt screeched, shouting the word more into Killian’s ear than at Emma.

She laughed softly, blinking when David pulled her veil away, brushing his lips across her cheek.

“He got impatient,” Killian explained, rolling his shoulder and inducing a fresh round of laughter.

“Yeah, so I can see,” Emma smiled. She reached up to tug on the back of Matt’s jacket, brushing her hands over the fabric. “He’s not a jungle gym, Mattie.”  
  
And they could have been back in their apartment and the only people in the entire goddamn world for as much attention as they were paying to anyone else. The officiant Mary Margaret hired several months before coughed pointedly.

“Oh, right,” Emma muttered, hand still on Matt’s back when she spun on the spot. “You know we’ve been married for two years already?”  
  
Killian laughed, Matt’s whole body shaking against him and he ducked his head before he could come up with all the reasons it would probably upset Mary Margaret, lips finding Emma’s easily and quickly and it meant as much as it had years before in a practice facility.

They didn’t buy new rings.

That was one of the things they’d absolutely refused.

Their rings were _theirs_ and they hadn’t even taken them off before the repeat ceremony, something feeling decidedly wrong at even suggesting the idea.

He kept Matt on his shoulder through the entire ceremony.

And they were supposed to write their own vows, were supposed to stand up there in front of everyone they’d ever known and probably a few people they didn’t and dive into the deep end of sentiment, but neither one of them seemed able to come up with anything more than _simple_.

“I love you,” Emma said, shrugging slightly like she was admitting to it for the first time. “And...I just. I can’t picture anything except this.”  
  
“I knew I loved you two months after I met you,” Killian said. Matt’s arms knocked against his back. “It’s...it’s all I ever wanted, Swan.”

There were more words and cheers and no one really had to say _you can kiss the bride_ because they’d been married for two years.

To be fair, they didn’t really wait for the words anyway.

Killian was never certain who moved first – him or Emma or maybe they both closed the space between them at the same time and that had happened more times than he could count, the ease to take that next step forward, always a bit desperate to be just a half a step closer.

“I love you,” he said again, resting his forehead on hers and it felt like he was trying to breathe her in.

“Straight to the point.”  
  
“Simple vows, Swan. The pinnacle of romance.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“You tell me.”  
  
She pulled back slightly, nodding as Matt tried to shimmy down in between them. “Yeah,” she promised. “You want to scandalize all of them and make out some more?”  
  
“Absolutely,” Killian said, ducking his head and he could feel her laughter when he kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's teeth good? Still in tact? Fluff was promised and (I hope) fluff was delivered and I can't believe there is only one chapter of this story left. I cannot tell you guys how much I have appreciated every click, comment and kudos. It's the best. You're all the best. 
> 
> Come flail on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


	15. Chapter 15

There was babbling in her ear.

Or gurgling. It might have been a bit closer to gurgling.

“What?” Emma asked, bobbing on her feet slightly and tugging the small, gurgling bundle a bit closer to her chest. “What’s the matter, baby?”  
  
“She’s probably freezing cold,” Ruby muttered, shaking back and forth and the highlights in her hair almost matched the color of her nose and the flush in her cheeks. “Is this safe? Shouldn’t you be in a suite somewhere? Shouldn’t we both be in a suite somewhere? With heat? And hot toddies or something?”  
  
“You think they’re serving hot toddies at a hockey game?” Emma asked skeptically and Ruby shrugged.

“I don’t know and I don’t care, but they should. We should have made that a requirement when we agreed to do this thing.”  
  
“Ruby, you don’t own the team. I don’t think you’re in charge of scheduling. Or Winter Classics. That’s absolutely a league thing.”  
  
“Give me a couple more years and it will absolutely be a me thing,” Ruby said and there was a promise in her voice that left little doubt for argument.

The mound of blankets and baby in Emma’s arms made another noise – something that sounded dangerously close to a few moments away from a cry – and she shifted on her feet again, muttering nonsense against an impossibly small blue and white hat.

“C’mon, Peggy,” Emma pleaded, rocking back on her heels and that was a mistake. The heel of her boot hit against a pile of snow she hadn’t seen before and she could already feel the moisture creeping through the so-called impenetrable leather. “God damn,” she muttered, drawing a chuckle out of Ruby.

Emma glared at her. “Shut up,” she hissed and Ruby’s grin turned a bit more confident. “You know we almost slept four straight last night. Didn’t we, kid?”

There wasn’t an answer from the three-month-old in her arms, just another gurgle that Margaret Jones should probably have patented at this point.

“Almost,” Ruby repeated, taking a step forward and resting her hand on the top of the blankets Peggy was wrapped in. It really was freezing. And, maybe, starting to snow. “You causing problems for your parents, Pegs?” she asked, dragging a finger across fabric with hockey sticks all over it.

“Nah,” Emma muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of Peggy’s head. Or her hat. There wasn’t really much baby to be seen, far too wrapped up in defense of the wind and the, possible, snow at Yankee Stadium.

Ruby rolled her eyes, the sentiment in Emma’s voice nearly melting the goddamn ice in front of them, but there was some truth to it and maybe that was even more sentimental.

Her hormones were still all out of whack.

And she was absolutely exhausted.

They’d found out a little over a year after the repeat wedding, Emma waking up in just enough time to feel the world shift and flip and barely get out of bed and away from the pillows in just enough time to collapse on the bathroom floor.

It wasn’t like they were trying, but it wasn’t like they...weren’t trying.

They were good at happy and family and her heart practically grew fifteen sizes every time Mattie screamed _dad_ when Killian got home from road trips, sprinting out of bed or of the couch and giving him just enough time to drop his bag before leaping into his arms.

So, they hadn’t really planned it, but they’d talked about, mumbled discussions in the middle of the night and after games and the back corner of the restaurant, a few moments on their own when Mattie started trailing after Roland with cries of _teach me how to shoot_ on his lips.

“What if…” Emma whispered one night, resting her foot on the bottom of the stool Killian was perched on, a plate of half-eaten onion rings in between them.

He quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly and Emma wondered when he’d started being able to just _read_ her mind.

“What, Swan?”  
  
“What if we had another kid?”

He nearly knocked the onion rings off the counter, dodging forward to push the plate back to safety and Emma mumbled _athlete_ under her breath.

“Emma,” Killian said slowly, the sound of her name lingering in the space between them. It sent a shockwave down her spine and butterflies in her stomach and neither of those things were the right kind of description for what she felt – wanted and _needed_ and so goddamn loved, sometimes she couldn’t think straight with the force of it.

She tried to smile encouragingly, shrugging slightly while taking a sip of her drink and Killian’s eyes hadn’t left hers, far too blue to be entirely fair.

“I mean,” she muttered, leaning forward slightly to rest her hand on his knee. He pulled her fingers away before she could even hit the jeans, lacing his fingers through hers and squeezing tightly, his thumb resting just underneath the ring she’d resolutely refused to ever take off.

“Yeah,” he answered earnestly, nodding for good measure and the butterflies in her stomach were threatening to fly out of her mouth.

“Yeah?”

Killian nodded again and that space that had existed between them just a few moments before seemed to evaporate as quickly, his feet back on the floor as he took a step closer to her. Her knees hit his when his left hand landed on her hip.

She could hear Mattie and Roland shouting on the other side of the restaurant – the sound of chairs scraping across the floor a telltale sign they’d started building some kind of makeshift goal and Emma dimly wondered what they were going to use as a puck.

There wasn’t much time to think about that when Killian started kissing her – lips finding hers with his hand still holding onto her hip like some kind of anchor.

There was no way to be sure how many times he’d kissed her. Or how often she’d kissed him – not far behind Mattie whenever Killian came back from road trips and his arm would snake its way around her back, pulling her tight against his side with a kid latched to his hip and his lips on hers.

The kid wasn’t ever very impressed by any of that.

It made Emma smile just to think about it, the easy sense of security and _indefinite_ that just seemed to exist now, an apartment that felt like a home and a, frankly, absurd amount of pillows in every room.

He still texted her as soon as he landed, updates on Scarlet’s continued battle with turbulence, and Robin’s tendency to steal the arm rest, and they’d started learning their own facts on road trips – a small contingent of what _The Post_ referred to as _next gen Rangers_ whenever the front office decided they could travel.

“You’re smiling,” Killian muttered softly, lingering against her and Emma didn’t remember standing up. Or slinging her arms around his shoulders, trying to pull him even closer to her in the back corner of the restaurant.

“I’m assuming that was some kind of yes.”  
  
“Some kind.”  
  
“We never really had a honeymoon,” Emma said and Killian’s eyes got a bit wider. “We could...you know…”  
  
“Go on.”  
  
“We are in public, Jones.”  
  
“Ah, not really,” Killian argued, tongue pressing into the corner of his lip and they had a _kid_. They had an entire hockey team in the same room as them. She still shouldn’t want to grab him by the front of his league-mandated jacket and kiss him until he couldn’t stand up.

She absolutely did.

“You keep trailing off, love,” Killian laughed, dragging his hand down her side until the fabric of her jersey – his jersey, still and always and some kind of absurd emotional nonsense – clumped under his fingers. “One might assume that you’re distracted, somehow.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you’re good at making out in public places, I guess.”  
  
“You guess?”  
  
Emma shrugged. “We’ve circled back to the honeymoon idea. Or, at least, the highpoints of a honeymoon. You’ll get fined if you don’t show up to games.”  
  
“We could afford the fine.”  
  
“Not with two kids.”  
  
Killian stuttered slightly at that and Emma silently congratulated herself on her ability to catch him by surprise. “Two,” he repeated softly and Emma shrugged again.

“Half a line.”  
  
“It could be a girl.”  
  
It was a simple sentence, just a few words and they were still standing questionably close, hands moving without even really thinking about it, tracing out patterns against each other, but Emma could hear the meaning there and the _want_ and Killian Jones, _dad_ , might have been her favorite thing in the entire goddamn world.

Particularly when she was Emma Swan, _mom_.

“So, that’s a yes, then?” she asked, hating the uncertainty that crept up in her voice. “We could, you know, maybe, try? Or not really try to be not trying? Does that make sense?”

Killian hummed in the back of his throat, pulling his hand up to trace his thumb across the chain she kept around her neck and the ring that had, at some point, worked its way over the front of her jersey.

“There were, at least, three double negatives in that sentence, Swan,” he chuckled, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers.

“I think you kept up.”  
  
“Perceptive, that’s why.”  
  
“Good. Wouldn't want to pass on anything less than _perceptive_ to future generations.”

A glass broke on the other side of the restaurant, Will shouting _nice shot_ and Roland grumbled under his breath, a string of words he probably shouldn’t even know.

“I think Mattie scored,” Emma added, glancing over her shoulder at the scene behind her. Killian’s eyes shifted away from her mouth, darting just above her head and the smirk turned into something close to pride, his shoulders rolling back slightly when he tried to turn her against his chest.

“Five hole,” he said, nodding towards the lopsided chairs and what appeared to be a knotted up napkin sitting a few feet behind a still-furious Roland. “That was a good shot.”  
  
“See, genetics.”  
  
“You know,” Killian mumbled, dragging his lips just behind her ear and Emma felt him laugh against her when he noticed the goosebumps he’d left in his wake. “We seem to be pretty good at this kid thing, Swan. Only seems right to keep going.”  
  
Her knees felt weak and Killian’s hand tightened knowingly around her waist, pulling her back flush against his chest and she blushed at how breathless her response was. “Practical.”

Killian kissed her again, teeth coming dangerously close to the skin of her neck and he’d barely moved his hand when a blur of blue and white and dark hair collided with both of them.

Mattie Jones – tiny hockey stick clutched tightly in one hand while he swung it at Killian’s legs – was still not very impressed with his parents. Or their discussions about passing on hockey talent and an ability to understand the English language to another kid.

“Goal,” Matt yelled and that might have been _his_ favorite word in the English language. “Goal!”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t just started singing the song,” Emma said, running her hands across his forehead. He was still swinging the stick, the plastic hardly even making a noise against Killian’s leg.

“Two minutes,” Killian said, ducking low quickly and swinging a suddenly hysterical Mattie over his shoulder. Roland had run over at some point, shouting _Hook, he cheated_ and Emma grinned in spite of herself, pulling on the back of the Jones jersey Mattie never seemed to take off.

They were really good at this.

So, they tried – or didn’t stop themselves from trying and Margaret Elsa Jones was born just a few weeks before the Christmas break, announcing her arrival with a blizzard that forced the league to actually postpone games.

They called her Peggy and she was, in Emma’s not so unbiased opinion, perfect. She’d be even better if she’d consider sleeping more than a few hours at a time.

They were getting there.

“How long are they supposed to be out there?” Ruby asked, jerking Emma back to the present and the snow and the hockey warmups happening in front of her.

They were hours early for the game – something front office kept referring to as _family skate_ and Emma had to force herself not to actually roll her eyes at the Rangers inability to come up with a better name.

She and Ruby had started calling it _wreck your emotions skate_ whenever they talked about it.

“I have no idea how long we're out here,” Emma answered honestly. “Isn’t that your thing? Got to let the photographers come and take pictures and be adorable?”  
  
“There are no photographers here,” Ruby said sharply and Emma made a face, widening her eyes meaningfully.

“Ruby Lucas, defender of the New York Rangers children.”  
  
“Just the ones I care about.”  
  
“You’re totally Mattie’s favorite.”  
  
Ruby’s expression shifted, eyes lightening and jaw unclenching and she shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the entire world.

It kind of was – between Ruby and Killian, Emma wasn’t sure who Mattie idolized more, trailing after both of them whenever they were at games. He followed them into the locker room, effectively claiming the bench in front of Killian’s as his own during his very first season opener and the entire goddamn team was ready to do his bidding at the first sign of want.

But Ruby and Killian were different.

Emma wasn’t sure how it worked, some sort of unspoken agreement between the two of them and she wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if they’d shook on it some point, a muttered _Lucas_ and _Cap_ in the corner of the Garden as soon as Mattie was born that they’d both be ready and willing to defend him against...anything.

The story came out just before they got married, again. It led _The Post_ sports section just before the All-Star break, a column that earned screen times on SportsCenter and morning talk shows, questioning Killian Jones’ decision to skip out on the weekend in order to get married, again.

_It just doesn’t make any sense. He’s sitting in some kind of two-week goal scoring skid and the Rangers haven’t won since the start of the month, but Cap seems more worried with floral arrangements and making sure his kid sits in on every single post-game presser._

_Don’t even get me started on the professionalism of that._

_Or lack thereof._

_Deadlines, it appear, don’t matter much to Cap when there’s no threat of a trade nearby._

Killian had broken three sticks. Arthur smashed his whiteboard and Robin had to actually hold Scarlet back, twisting his arms behind him when Will started screaming that he was _going to kill that asshole_.

Ruby, however, hadn’t moved.

She’d read them the column while leaning against the wall of the locker room with an even look on her face and her voice didn’t waver once when she promised she would _take care of it._ There wasn’t another column. Or another byline for that columnist.

Ever.

Ruby took her role as Matthew Jones protector very seriously.

And Matthew Jones, it seemed, did not know how to stop on skates.

Emma sighed loudly when he crashed into the boards in front of her, hands flying up to try and brace himself against the bench and Killian was half a step behind him, eyes wide and hair matted down with snow. He glanced up cautiously at her and Ruby.

“We’re working on that,” he promised, bending his knees to pull Mattie away from the boards. “We’ve just got to learn how to twist our feet a little bit so we stop, right, kid?”  
  
Mattie nodded enthusiastically, snow flying off his hair and a smile lingering on his mouth. “Yeah,” he yelled. “But I like going fast!”  
  
“You’ve got to stop to score, Mattie,” Emma pointed out, tilting her head when he started to wobble just a bit his skates. Killian reached out to grip his shoulder, keeping him balanced and she’d almost gotten used to the idea of her kid growing up on ice.

She only worried a little bit about this deep-rooted desire to go as fast as humanly possible.

He’d probably run over his fair share of goalies.

“What happened to your hat, Mattie?” Emma asked, lifting her eyebrows slightly and glancing at Killian who, suddenly, couldn’t seem to meet her gaze.

“It was an unsuspecting victim of speed, Swan,” he said, twisting around their kid to lean his shoulder against the boards.

“Yuh huh.”  
  
“That’s just talent, love. Can’t deny talent.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re an enormous help.”  
  
He grinned at her, brushing his hand over Mattie’s hair and he nearly fell over when the three-year-old tried to skate _over_ his feet, a bit desperate to keep up with Roland and Henry when they streaked by them.

Killian groaned – a skate somehow finding the inside of his ankle and Ariel would kill all of them one by one if he actually got hurt before this game.

“Jeez, Cap, relax,” Ruby laughed, tapping her fingers on the glass to get Mattie’s attention. “You score on Rol yet?”  
  
Mattie shook his head despondently and the baby in Emma’s arms fussed again, not quite appreciating the influx of sound and shouts and pucks hitting up against the boards. “No,” Mattie mumbled and Ruby might have been snow melting on the ground, staring at the kid in front of her with a fondness that made Emma’s heart clench. “He said he was going to race Henry.”  
  
“I bet they know how to stop,” Emma mumbled and Ruby glared at her like she’d just suggested her own son was not capable of being the greatest hockey player to ever play the game.

“You know what you should do mini-Jones,” Ruby continued and Mattie’s eyes widened at the nickname, still not quite balanced on his skates when he tried to start jumping up and down.

“What?”  
  
“Challenge both of them to a race.” Emma groaned and even Killian looked a little frustrated by the suggestion, far too aware of just how seriously Roland and Henry took on-ice competition.

“He’s three, Lucas,” Killian growled, tugging Mattie back against his leg. Ruby shrugged.

Mattie, however, did not seem remotely concerned about his age – or the distinct lack of size he had against either Roland or Henry.

“Dad! Dad! Dad,” Mattie screamed, officially waking up his sister in the process. Emma rolled her eyes skyward, sighing when the snow hit her face, and Mattie had started hitting the side of Killian’s hip, certain he simply hadn’t heard him and wasn’t just doing his best to pointedly ignore whatever plan was, apparently, being formulated.

“What, kid?” Killian asked, bending down until he was eye-level with Mattie.

“I’m going to go race Rol and Henry.”  
  
Killian flashed a slightly panicked expression in Emma’s direction, but Peggy was still crying and it was absolutely freezing, wind whipping the edges of the blankets out of their tuck. Trying to get Mattie into the suite when the game actually started was going to be a distinct challenge.

“Why don’t we try and take some shots instead,” Killian suggested, but Mattie was shaking his head before the words were even entirely out of his mouth.

“No, I want to race.”  
  
“Of course you do." Killian's eyes kept darting towards Emma, something in between nervous and that stupid, adorable pride that seemed to flash across his face whenever Mattie wanted to get on the ice.

He always wanted to get on the ice.

“We could put Uncle Will in goal though,” Killian continued and Emma couldn’t quite hold back her laugh at the tone of his voice, pleading with a three-year-old in the middle of Yankee Stadium.

Mattie shook his head. “Rol said he would race me later.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Ruby groaned loudly, swinging her leg over the top of the boards like she was going for a line change. “Come here, mini-Jones. I’m going to kill myself.”  
  
Mattie practically jumped to attention, pulling away from Killian to move towards Ruby and Emma scoffed when she used her kid as leverage.

“Lucas, what the hell,” Killian snapped, but Ruby brushed him off, both her feet landing on the ice without incident or any sort of death.

“Cap, seriously, if you don’t calm down, you’re going to go insane before puck drop and that’s just not a good media look.”  
  
“Ruby,” Emma cautioned, but she might have stayed silent for all the good it did her. Peggy was still crying, Killian stuck halfway in between both kids as he tried to make sure neither one of them dissolved into some sort of on-ice meltdown.

Ruby shook her head, fingers wrapping tightly around Mattie’s jersey. “It’ll be fine,” she said, a certainty in her voice that made it almost painfully obvious she had a plan. “Come on, mini-Jones, let’s go before your parents start making out over the boards. It’s gross.”

Mattie made noise – somewhere between an agreement and a determination to go race children nearly double and triple his size – and Ruby didn’t let go of his jersey, letting him half drag her across the ice while she shouted for Roland and Henry.

“It was an almost valiant effort,” Emma said, pushing up on her toes to balance some of her weight. Killian made a face, but she didn’t move – and he didn’t have a leg to stand on, metaphorical or otherwise, when there was a three-year-old crashing into the side of Yankee Stadium because someone hadn’t taught him how to stop yet.

“Stopping’s the easy part,” Killian reasoned. He skated forward, knees hitting up against the boards, but Emma wasn’t certain he even noticed, gaze focused on the baby and the blankets in her arms. “Hi, sweetheart,” he muttered, tugging his glove off his hand to trail his fingers across Peggy’s wrapped-up arms.

“If stopping’s so easy, how come he hasn’t figured out how to do it yet,” Emma challenged and Peggy started _gurgling_ again, twisting in her arms when she tried to work out of the blankets and grab hold of Killian’s finger. “God, you’re a child menace.”  
  
“It’s all that excess charm, Swan,” he said, flashing her a smile and she couldn't even roll her eyes. It absolutely was. “And I told you, love, stopping is a distinct work in progress. We’ll get there.”

“He’s ridiculously fast. For a three-year-old.”  
  
Killian hummed, a self-satisfied look on his face like he was painfully aware the only reason Mattie was fast was because of him. “Where are your skates, Swan?”  
  
“I’m not skating,” she said, nodding towards Peggy. “Kind of preoccupied. You know, at one point, she was sleeping.”  
  
“Yeah? Finally exhausted, huh?”

“The almost in almost sleeping consistently is going to slowly kill me, I’m positive.”  
  
“Ah, we’ll get there too.”  
  
“You are too easily pushed over, Cap. How are you even standing up? You’re the one who spent most of the night in a rocking chair.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Swan,” Killian countered, kissing her temple lightly and he’d never put his glove back on. He pushed her hair back behind her ear, letting her rest against his chest and Emma tried to breathe the moment in, the Stadium still loud with family and skates and both of those things crashing into boards that couldn't be very sturdy, set to be taken down nearly as soon as the game was over.

He’d woken up before her – snapping to attention as soon as the first sound had come across the room and they were going to have to find a new apartment soon. She’d blinked open her eyes to find Killian slouched in a chair in the corner of the room, feet stretched out in front of him and the bottom of his team-branded shirt riding up, like he’d only just remembered to put it on before letting a three-month-old rest her head on his shoulder.

He was mumbling under his breath, fingers drawing out patterns on Peggy’s back and Emma hadn’t wanted to move, far too focused on the look on his face, the quiet awe in his gaze whenever his eyes flickered down to their daughter.

He glanced up at her with wide eyes and she could still see how goddamn blue they were in the dim light from the street outside and it only took one nod of her head to get them both back into bed, Emma’s head on Killian’s shoulder and Peggy on his chest.

“And,” Killian added, hand lingering on the back of Emma’s neck. “I am absolutely exhausted.” She laughed softly, burrowing against his jersey when a gust of wind swept across the stadium and they had to be close to breaking some kind of record for temperature in outdoor games. “Come out on the ice, love.”  
  
“What? I’m not wearing skates. I’m holding a baby.”  
  
“Those are both very good facts, Swan, but neither one of them prove why you can’t come on the ice.”  
  
“I’m going to fall on my ass if I try and get over those boards,” she argued. “How’s that for a fact?”  
  
Killian shook his head, reaching forward to try and pull Peggy into the crook of his elbow. Emma didn’t move – even when he shook the glove off his left hand and held his palm up at her. He crooked his finger out her, backing up slowly and that was absolutely cheating.

She couldn't argue with a jersey and snow in his hair and that _stupid_ smile on his face while he was holding a suddenly no longer crying baby.

Killian Jones, father of Emma Swan’s children, was absolutely not playing fair.

“That’s dumb,” she mumbled and he lifted an eyebrow at her. “You can’t just do all of that and then expect me not to be vaguely attracted to it.”  
  
“Vaguely,” Killian repeated skeptically and Emma rolled her eyes, swinging her legs over the boards until both her feet were flat on the ice. She didn’t move another inch. “That’s insulting, Swan. Go ahead and admit you’re incredibly attracted to all of this.”  
  
He drew his hand in front of him, pointing between the _RANGERS_ emblazoned across his chest and Peggy, grinning at the tiny girl until he worked something that almost sounded like a giggle out of her.

“Jeez,” Emma groaned, but she was standing now and Killian absolutely knew he’d won. He skated back towards her, skates coming up just short of her boots in two seconds flat and she barely had a chance to catch her breath or mumble some insult about stopping before his lips caught hers.

“Did I mention I’m glad you’re here, Swan?” he mumbled, pressing her back slightly until the bench dug into the small of her back. He groaned when her hips moved.

“It’s kind of my job,” Emma said. “We’re supposed to be SnapChatting. There’s contest winners on the ice.”  
  
Killian’s chest shook when he laughed, but his hand fell on her waist and his grip on Peggy didn’t shift when he kissed Emma again.

“Oh my God,” Will groaned, hitting the back of Killian’s skates with ice when he stopped. His hand was wrapped around Ruby’s wrist, pulling her along the ice behind him and her face was flushed from the snow and the wind and, probably, laughing so hard. “Gross! Gross!”  
  
“God, Scarlet, shut up,” Killian sighed, not even bothering to turn around.

“Fine, then I’m not going to tell you that your kid is demanding your presence at the other end of the ice, about to take on both Rol and Henry in some sort of skills competition Lucas has only just come up with.”  
  
“It’s, literally, a race, Scarlet, we went over this on the way over here,” Ruby corrected. “And mini-Jones is absolutely going to win.”  
  
Emma scoffed, peering around Killian to level Ruby with a disbelieving stare. “Oh yeah? You strap him to some kind of motor, then?”  
  
“Emma, do you have no faith in me at all?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Rude.”  
  
“Can we go?” Will asked impatiently, tugging on Ruby again. “Mini-Jones is going to wreck, obviously. Shouldn’t you be SnapChatting this anyway, Emma?”  
  
“I have an assistant for that,” she said, but Will and Ruby were already gone, turned towards the far end of the rink and the line of children. Only one of them didn’t stop.

Mattie hit the boards again.

“Ok, so we really need to work on stopping,” Emma muttered and Killian nodded. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her away from the bench and Emma gasped when her feet started sliding across ice. “God, caveman,” she hissed. “Give me some warning before you just start dragging me places.”

“Next time we play in a Winter Classic with pre-game skate and you don’t bring skates, I’ll make sure to warn you, Swan,” he chuckled.

Mattie had pushed himself back into line at some point – pulled to his feet by Roland while Henry shifted him on his skate so he was actually facing the right way – and Ruby was explaining rules to whatever it was they were about to do.

“You guys ready?” Ruby asked, staring staring pointedly at Roland and Henry. They both nodded. “You ready to destroy ‘em, mini-Jones?”

Mattie nodded and Emma clicked her tongue, not entirely sure _destroy_ was the best word for a three-year-old to be particularly enthusiastic about.

Ruby ignored her.

“Alright,” she said, holding a Rangers towel she certainly didn’t have when she’d been standing on the bench. “On your mark, get set, go!”  
  
Will reached forward, pushing on Mattie’s back and neither Henry nor Roland made much headway before they both fell to the ice, a mess of limbs and staged dramatics and Emma didn’t even try to stop her laugh.

Killian’s arm stayed around her waist, but she could feel his body shaking against hers and he cheered louder than anyone screaming _Skate! Skate! Skate!_ In her ear like Mattie could do anything except skate.

He didn’t know how to stop.

Robin caught him at the other blue line, a one-man wall between Mattie and the boards, tugging him up until he was laying horizontal in his arms. There was a collective _whoop_ of excitement from the entire Rangers first line – hands thrown in the air and phones held loosely in hands to _capture the moment_ or something particularly sentimental and Mulan’s camera might have been the loudest noise of all.

“Dad! Dad! Dad,” Mattie yelled, trying to climb back to the ice and Robin winced when a particularly well-placed knee ended up in his side.  
  
Killian grinned at Emma, kissing her cheek quickly and Ruby muttered _God, Cap, give me your kid_ , pulling Peggy into her arms. He moved after that, dragging Emma along with him and meeting Robin and Mattie at center ice.

He bent his knees at the same time he came to a stop, nearly pulling Emma down with him and Killian glanced up at her, grimacing slightly. “You were great,” he promised, turning back towards Mattie. “Super fast.”

Mattie beamed at them, throwing his arms around Killian’s neck and all three of them lost their balance at that, a mess of limbs and skates and camera shutters.

They won the game. Eventually. And Emma got the contest winners to their seats and promised to find something to drink so they wouldn’t freeze to death.

Ruby made the bar open up for hot toddies.

Killian scored, giving the puck to Mattie with a smile on his face as soon as they walked into the locker room afterwards. He barely let go of it long enough to put on the shelf over his bed.

Her phone _dinged_ hours later, sitting on the nightstand in the apartment and Emma hissed in her breath, glancing quickly at the crib in the corner of the room. Still asleep. She swiped her phone across the screen, sinking back into blankets as Killian’s arm inched around her.

“What’s the matter, Swan?” he mumbled, face half pressed into the pillow and her hair.

She laughed softly, blinking so she wouldn’t do something stupid like cry over the photo on her phone screen and, maybe, wake up Peggy again.

It was a picture – all four of them, Mattie clinging to Emma’s leg and Peggy back in Killian’s arms and she was staring at him or he was staring at her with matching looks on their face. They looked happy.

Other level happy.

The kind of happy Emma had never allowed herself to even consider, certain, it was a lie they fed to kids who grew up alone, just to make sure they didn’t go completely crazy.

She’d absolutely failed on that whole not crying thing.

“Swan,” Killian muttered again and she’d never actually answered him.

“Nothing,” she promised, putting the phone back on the nightstand next to her and twisting around so she was facing him. He blinked twice, that exhaustion he’d promised he felt before visible in every inch of him and Emma pressed up to brush her lips against his. “Nothing’s wrong.”

And it wasn’t.

She saved the photo.

* * *

He couldn’t seem to move away from his locker.

He knew he had to. He had to get up and get on the ice and there wasn’t anyone else around, the sounds of the team he only half knew now making its way around the corner of the still-open door.

They were playing soccer.

It was, apparently, a _thing_ now.

Killian took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair and he couldn't quite ever remember being this nervous. At least not before a hockey game.

But this wasn’t just a hockey game, this was _the_ hockey game in some sort of caps lock and, maybe, bolded way. The hockey game that would change everything and end everything and this was it – finally.

“You’re some kind of walking cliché,” Emma muttered, grinning at him as she leaned against the doorframe.

“I’m sitting still, Swan,” he argued and she scoffed under her breath, taking a step into the familiar space. She sank down next to him without a word, nudging her knee against his and Killian felt like the entire goddamn Garden was going to fall apart around him.

“Did you scrum?”

“Lucas would kill me if I didn’t.”  
  
“She’s way too busy trying to keep _ESPN_ away from that rookie. They’re demanding a comment about his status for tonight and she looks like she’s come up with several different ways to kill them already.”  
  
“Why is she even dealing with that anymore?” Killian asked. “Way below her pay grade now, right?”  
  
Emma shrugged. “Ah, sometimes there’s comfort in falling back on old habits. And she’s got a fancy corner office and VP after her name now, but Rubes misses the scrums and dictating what quotes the entire New York media got.”

“That was almost heavy-handed, love,” Killian muttered, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She was smiling at him.

“I had a feeling.”  
  
“Yeah? About what?”  
  
“It’s a big deal,” she said like that, somehow, explained it. It kind of did.

This was it.

Again.

He’d played out his max deal, the zeroes that were supposed to keep him in New York for the rest of his career had done just that  – he’d stayed and they’d built something, two Cups and two kids that wore his jersey to every home game and went to All-Star weekend the season before, some kind of _last ride_ nonsense that made Killian’s shoulders clench every time he heard it.

Except it didn’t end the way it was supposed to.

It ended in the second round, on the road, without his kids or his wife, just Robin snapping a stick over his knee and Will throwing his helmet so hard against the visitor’s locker room that the stupid thing cracked right down the middle.

He’d saved the text messages he found on his phone that night.

**I love you. We love you. Come home.**

The picture she’d sent was still his lock screen and his home screen – Matt and Peggy sitting on the couch still wearing Jones jerseys long after the game had ended and they’d lost, smiles on their faces and pillows stacked in between them.

He came home to find all three of them asleep, a mess of bodies and hair stuck precariously in between limbs and Killian could barely see Emma underneath the two kids on top of her, heads on her shoulders and arms splayed over her stomach.

The floor creaked when he bent down to try and make sure Matt didn’t inadvertently pull Emma’s hair out of her head and Killian winced, cursing the _old_ in the new apartment they’d bought a few months after Peggy had been born.

Matt mumbled something, blinking against the light of the still-on TV. “Dad?” he asked softly and Killian’s heart lurched.  
He probably wouldn’t ever get used to that.

“Hey, kid,” Killian muttered, sliding his bag off his shoulder and squatting down so he was level with the couch. “How was Mom’s event?”  
  
“Rol was mad. He said that Sens guy was offsides.”  
  
Killian _also_ thought that Sens guy was offsides, but the new coach – hired after Arthur left to take some kind of front-office job with the league before the start of the season – didn’t _see that_ and they hadn’t challenged and they’d lost the entire goddamn series.

And the season was over.

And it wasn’t supposed to end like this.  
  
“It happens sometimes,” Killian said, an excuse that didn’t ring quite true in the face of a slightly sleepy six-year-old.

“But…” Matt started, voice rising impossibly quick on just three words and Killian shook his head, brushing his hair out of his eyes. His knees were killing him. There was a bruise on his thigh that he was half convinced would never disappear.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

They were supposed to win.

It was supposed to be something _perfect_ , some kind of storybook ending that would make it all worth it and his kids would see them win a Cup and Emma could, finally, change the picture on her phone.

Matt sighed softly, shoulders somehow managing to sag even when he was laying on his side and Killian fell back when he felt arms around his neck and a knee pressed into that bruise on his thigh.

“You should have won,” Matt whispered, face pressed against the front of Killian’s league-mandated jacket, hands gripping the back of the fabric tightly, like he’d been waiting all night to break into tears over a hockey game.

Killian’s breath caught in his throat – not just because of the other knee that seemed intent on trying to collapse his lung – and he pulled Matt against him, shifting so his leg wasn’t twisted up underneath him and both dangerous knees were moved to either side of his waist.

He wasn’t sure who held on tighter, Matt’s chest heaving against Killian’s front and it was some kind of miracle they hadn’t woken up the entire building, let alone Emma and Peggy.

“Hey,” Killian said softly, nudging his shoulder up when it seemed Matt’s cry had run its course. “It’s ok. It’s just a game, Matt.”  
  
Matt stared at him like he’d just suggested the sun would never rise again. “What?” Matt asked, his voice scratchy with his disbelief. “But, but, Dad! You lost! And that guy was offsides and...you should have won! You were supposed to win!”  
  
Killian had dealt with everything from heartbreak to sorrow to the complete desolation of rock bottom over the course of his career, hiding flasks of ancient rum in the floorboards of the brownstone, but he couldn’t quite remember anything cutting across him as sharply as those words, Matt’s certainty that he’d _win_ and keep winning settling in the pit of his stomach like some kind of anvil.

“I know, kid,” Killian sighed, tracing his fingers over the back of Matt’s jersey. He noticed a movement on the couch, Emma lifting her head slowly. She smiled softly at him, eyes trained on his hand and the numbers underneath it.

“But,” he continued, not quite sure he could come up with a reason that seemed plausible when he was just as frustrated. Maybe more. Probably more. God, it was all over and he wasn’t ready for it to be over.

Irony was a motherfucking joke.

Killian took a deep breath, glancing back at Emma. She had her lip pulled tightly between her teeth and arm wrapped around Peggy, but she didn’t blink when she met his gaze.

 _Explain. Tell him it’ll be ok. Believe it’ll be ok_.

“But,” Killian repeated. “It’s not the end of the world. They’re still going to play next year and we can go to games and all of Mom’s events. They can win next year.”  
  
He knew it didn’t work as soon as he pulled away, staring down an unconvinced Matt who probably would have crossed his arms for good measure if he weren’t too busy holding onto Killian’s jacket like a vice.

“You’re not going to be there though,” Matt grumbled and Killian shot a desperate look Emma’s direction.

“Mattie,” Emma said softly and his head snapped around at the sound of his own name. “We talked about this kid, after the game.”  
  
That anvil in the pit of Killian’s stomach seemed to press down harder – and it was almost _too_ easy to fall back into some cycle of _this_ , hating and disappointing and it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

They were supposed to win one more time.

HIs kids were supposed to see him win.

“I know,” Matt groaned, twisting around and rolling his eyes with a move that was so _painfully_ Killian, it seemed like the universe reaching out and slapping him across the face. Emma pulled her lips back behind her teeth, eyes widening slightly and Killian groaned, shifting to try and redistribute some of his son’s weight on his legs.

“There’s a but coming here, I’m sure of it,” Killian said, far too aware of just how much his kid was like him even without the pointed eye roll or distinct physical similarities.

They both wanted to win.

A bit desperately.  

“But,” Matt half-shouted. “None of that matters if you’re not there! It’s stupid if you’re not playing! And Uncle Robin’s gonna retire and Rol’s gonna play for Worlds and he said he might not be back for the playoffs next year and….” He took a deep breath, eyes just a bit too wide and they were dangerously close to a return to tears. “And Henry’s gone and I...I don’t care about hockey!”  
  
Killian gaped at him, not entirely prepared for the complete meltdown they were staging in the middle of the living room. Emma pushed up slowly, pulling Peggy with her and muttering under her breath when their daughter started to stir.

“Matthew,” Killian said slowly, pulling his hands away from the front of his shirt. He was very close to choking him with his own tie.

Matt shook his head deftly, lips set in a straight line and he got _that_ from Emma. “Dad, you were supposed to win!”

He was.

Killian bit his lip tightly, trying not to join a six-year-old in some kind of utter breakdown over hockey on the floor. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and Matt’s gaze had turned a bit desperate, staring at Killian like he had the answers to the universe and how to win a Stanley Cup a third time.

The couch creaked again when Emma moved, but she didn’t say anything and Killian had always been dimly aware of this – Emma’s certainty that Matt actually thought he was some kind of Captain America practically ringing in his ears.

Matthew David Jones, as promised, grew up on the ice.

He grew up in locker rooms and on team flights and post-game team dinners at the restaurant with an entire hockey team defending his honor and keeping his name out of headlines and off the internet. He had a closet full of team-branded merchandise and both Emma and Killian knew he kept that Winter Classic puck in his backpack, carting it back and forth between the apartment and school like some kind of good luck charm.

And the whole thing made Killian go a bit cross-eyed, the idea that his _kid_ could love something as much as he did, could want to be on the ice as much as he did, but it all seemed to be blowing up in his goddamn face in the middle of the night on the living room floor.

Killian moved his hand again, tracing over his own name on his son’s back and Matt pressed his forehead into his shoulder blade.

“I wanted to win,” he mumbled and Killian’s eyes darted to Emma. She smiled again, brushing her lips over Peggy’s head and she’d finally woken up as well, pushing dark hair out of her eyes and pressing a hand into Emma’s stomach before jumping off the couch.

Killian groaned when another kid landed on top of him, an elbow coming dangerously close to his eye and Emma shifted to the center of the couch, pulling her legs up to rest her chin on her knees. She was playing with the ring around her neck, the smile still lingering on the corner of her mouth and, at some point, they’d gotten pretty good at not even having to say things.

It helped when there were kids around.

Kids who, desperately, wanted to win hockey games.

Emma shrugged, head tilted slightly and she could have been a flashing neon sign for how obvious it all was.

 _One more season_.

 _We’re going to win. Again_.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy,” Peggy shouted, screaming his name in Killian’s ear. He squeezed one eye shut, trying to keep his balance.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he muttered. He tugged her back against him, running a hand through barely-curling hair and her jersey scratched against the back of his wrist and the scars on his left hand. “Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”  
  
“We wanted to see you! And Mommy said we could wait on the couch and we watched TV and ate popcorn!” She narrowed her eyes slightly, voice lowering like she was telling him a secret and Killian tried to look even remotely patient. “MD was really mad,” Peggy whispered, nodding towards her brother like he couldn’t hear everything she’d just said.

“I was not,” Matt argued, knee hitting Killian again when he twisted to glare at Peggy. “Not as much as Rol! And not as much as Leo! Dad, Dad! Leo threw his stick after you guys lost. Uncle David got really upset. It broke right in half!”  
  
“It was all very dramatic,” Emma added and for half a second Killian forgot he’d lost and that guy was offsides and his career had ended on the road with Locksley and Scarlet arguing a few feet away from him.

For half a second it didn’t matter.

There were kids hanging off him and Emma hadn’t let go of her ring, staring straight at him with something that almost looked like contentment in her gaze.

And if he could come home to _this_ , could be sure that this was here, no matter what, then maybe the game didn’t matter.

Or, at least, didn’t matter quite as much.

And he’d probably brag to David that _his_ son hadn’t broken anything in a public place as soon as he saw him.

“Daddy, where's your ring?” Peggy asked, a slightly scandalized voice that probably shouldn’t have belonged to an almost four-year-old.

He hadn’t put it back on yet – because he was a melodramatic fool who couldn’t quite bring himself to stop thinking about turnovers and antiquated plus-minus ratings and what he could have done to make sure they’d won the game the entire time he’d been sitting on the plan. So he hadn’t pulled the ring off his neck or put it back on his finger, covering up the ink that wrapped all the way around the base of it.

Emma had called it _sentimental_ , but she always traced over it, eyelashes fluttering _every single time_ and maybe that’s why he’d done it, just a few weeks after wedding number one and just before camp started that year – to remember the look on her face whenever she pushed the ring back on his finger as soon as he came back home.

“That’s mom’s job, Mar,” Matt sighed, sounding like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He made a face at her, eyes rolling again and Killian clicked his tongue.

“Nuh uh,” he said, tugging on jersey until Matt met his gaze. “None of that.”  
  
Matt grumbled, trying to pull away from Killian – but his right hand wasn’t bruised and he had enough of a grip on the jersey that even a surprisingly strong kid couldn’t quite work out of the hold. “Sorry, Mar,” he mumbled and Killian sighed.

Emma laughed so loudly she nearly fell off the couch. “What?” Killian asked sharply. She just shook her head, shoulders still moving when she fell back against cushions and pillows and the mountain of blankets they must have stolen from all of the rooms in the apartment.

“Nothing, nothing,” she promised. “Just mirrors, or something.”  
  
“Mirrors?”  
  
“Or something. God, someone should be taping you and then showing it back. It’s like he’s studied you or something.”  
  
“Swan, you’re not making any sense.”  
  
“Well, it’s the middle of the night.”  
  
“Two in the morning. That’s not middle of the night, just late,” Killian argued and Emma’s eyes flashed with amusement. Matt groaned. “Although,” he added, glancing down at the kids still clinging to him. “It might not be a bad idea to get off the floor and find some kind of bed.”  
  
Matt and Peggy started arguing almost immediately – demands to hear more about the game and after the game and something that sounded like _highlights_ that Killian couldn’t quite believe he’d heard – but he was exhausted and bruised and so goddamn disappointed his body still ached with it.

Although that might have been the bruises too.

“Come on,” Emma said, swinging her legs back onto the floor and prying Peggy’s arms off Killian’s neck. “We waited for Dad, time to go to bed.”  
  
Peggy stuck her lower lip out, some kind of perfect pout Emma and Killian were both convinced she practiced. “But,” she argued. “He just got here!”  
  
“You were asleep five minutes ago,” Emma laughed, lacing her hand through Peggy’s and trying, rather unsuccessfully, to pull her down the hallway. There were tears welling in her eyes and Killian steeled himself for another meltdown in the living room – although melting down over bed and not hockey seemed a bit more _normal_ than anything else.

“I want to stay with you,” Peggy continued, pressing up on the balls of her feet as she grabbed the front of Emma’s t-shirt. Team-branded. His name was on the back of that one too. God, they were all still wearing his number.

“Margaret,” Emma sighed and Killian couldn’t quite take a deep breath, still sitting on the floor with Matt half on top of him and an entire family wearing his jersey hours after he’d come off the ice for the last time.

“Yeah,” Matt yelled, stepping on Killian in an effort to get up quickly. He tugged on Emma’s free arm, pulling on her third round of replacement laces. He’d given her the first ones a few days after Matt was born, carrying them around in his pocket for days, an idea he couldn't quite understand – they were already married and there was a Stanley Cup ring around her neck that she hadn’t ever taken off, practically growling at the doctor when they’d tried to move it in the hospital as soon as she’d gone into labor.

But it felt _important_ , somehow, another tangible reminder or something that didn’t quite make sense, but her wrist looked bare without them and, well, the laces had been the very first thing he’d given her.

Ah, well, maybe the second.

But saying you’ve actually given someone your heart sounded absurd outloud, even for someone as decidedly melodramatic as Killian Jones, former captain of the New York Rangers.

Killian hissed when Matt tugged a bit too forcefully and it’d be more difficult to get another set if he wasn’t on the team anymore.

“You guys have a TV in your room,” Matt added, as if that decided _that._ “And,” he continued. “Your bed is huge.”  
  
“That’s true,” Killian admitted and Emma’s head snapped towards him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open slightly. He shrugged.

Selfish, needy, clingy ass – who didn’t want his kids on the other side of the apartment when all of this was over.

“Yeah, ok,” Emma mumbled, but the ends of her lips quirked up. “I’m bringing the popcorn though,” she continued, staring at Killian as if she was challenging him to argue with her. He didn’t. He was starving.

“Of course, Swan.”  
  
Matt made some kind of  at the nickname and Peggy beamed at both of them, holding her hands up with the obvious intent of being lifted off the floor as soon as Killian stood up. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, groaning slightly when her hair hit against her face as she flopped over his shoulder and every single muscle in his body protested at the added weight. “You’ve got to take the jersey off.”  
  
Peggy froze against him, her toes pushing into his stomach and maybe his liver or something and Killian startled underneath her. Emma laughed softly, pulling Matt against her side and resting her chin on the top of his head.

“What?” Killian asked.

She shook her head slowly, taking a step towards him and brushing her lips against his and it took everything in him not to surge up against her – far too aware of what it felt like to be without her the night before and, God, if he hadn’t missed her more than anything it was some kind of impossible lie.

“I love you,” she said softly and Matt made some kind of strangled sound, complete with a tongue half hanging out his mouth. “No matter what.”  
  
It took what felt like another full season to get two kids ready for bed – teeth brushed and arguments over keeping jerseys on and trying to drag the blankets off the couch and into the room at the other end of the hall ended with three frames knocked off the wall, one gold medal inexplicably on the floor and a knocked over coffee table that, just, didn’t make any sense at all.

And it must have been close to three in the morning before Matt and Peggy were asleep, the sounds of the TV barely audible over their quiet breathing as Emma burrowed against Killian’s side, one kid on either side of them.

“He waited for you, you know,” Emma said softly, voice just a bit mumbled against the t-shirt he’d pulled on.

Killian shifted, doing his best not to move Peggy too much where her head was resting on his chest. “What?”

“Mattie,” she explained. “He was fine, or fine’ish, at the event. You can absolutely brag to David too because not only did Leo break his stick, but Mattie was the one who got him to calm down. David and Reese’s couldn’t do anything.”  
  
Killian could feel his eyes widen, knew his mouth had fallen open and the weight on top of him, suddenly, felt impossibly heavy – somewhere in the realm of the weight of the entire goddamn world.

Emma nodded, his silence an answer to a question she hadn’t even really asked. “He kept it together the whole time. And we talked about it, about losing and the end in some kind of impossibly large way.” She sighed softly, blinking quickly against the tears that had found their way into the corners of her eyes.

“But, uh,” she continued. “I think, I think it all kind of broke when you got home. That’s why he freaked. It all felt very, very real.”  
  
“It is, Swan,” Killian said, a note of bitterness in his voice that didn’t belong in that room with popcorn and kids and she wasn’t even trying to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks, gripping his t-shirt just a bit too tightly.

“I know. I just….”  
  
“What?”  
  
“It shouldn’t end like that. Not for you.”  
  
Killian let out a shaky laugh, his own vision blurring just a bit and in their collective determination to focus on their kid’s dental hygiene, neither one of them remembered his ring, still hanging on a chain around his neck.

“Here,” he said, leaning forward as much as he could and tugging the chain over his head. “Your move, love.”  
  
Emma rolled her eyes, but she pulled the ring out of his fingers, twisting it slightly like she was staring at it for the very first time. And he wasn’t sure if he’d stopped breathing or started breathing far too quickly, but it kind of felt like the room was spinning and Killian kept staring at her if only because he was half certain she was some kind of anchor.

Idiot.

“Indefinitely,” Emma muttered, sliding the ring back on and her thumb lingered over that one scar that ran from his wrist up to his index finger.

“No matter what, Swan.”

She was still crying, silent tears running down her cheeks, and neither one of them could actually flip on their sides, kids laying on top of them and pillows in between them and Killian’s foot was twisted up in a blanket.

“Do you…” Emma trailed off, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Did you think about it?”  
  
“It ending like this?” She hummed and Killian tried to shrug. It didn’t really work. “It’s different than it was before, Swan. It’s not like there’s nothing besides hockey. There’s more than that. The game is the lowest thing on the list of things I’m worried about.”  
  
“What’s at the top?”  
  
“A three-way tie for first place includes everyone in this bed.”  
  
“Sap.”  
  
“You’re the one who texted me to come home, love.”  
  
“That’s true,” she admitted. “And I wanted you to. We all did. They’re not going to take that jersey off for days, you know that, right?”  
  
“That’s ridiculous.”  
  
“Super dad,” Emma muttered and Killian scoffed out of instinct, that tiny, desperate voice that was still half certain he wasn’t anything without hockey rearing its ugly head as soon as the final buzzer had sounded.

“Swan, you planned ten events this postseason. And, at least three quarters of the reason Henry is even going to school is because of you.”  
  
“Ok, that’s not even remotely true. It’s not like I wrote the stories.”  
  
“You read them. All of them. As soon as he e-mails you something new, you drop everything and read it.”  
  
“That’s because they’re good.”

“So are you.”  
  
Emma sighed, flipping her head back up to stare at the ceiling, but her right hand had found his left and Killian smiled when her fingers laced through his. “One more?” she asked softly and there it was, the question and the idea and the hope that had been lingering in the back corner of his mind since he’d read her text message.

“What do you think, Swan?”

“That’s not my call.”  
  
“Sure it is.”  
  
She glanced at him and he’d probably never get used to that look – something that felt a bit like understanding and a lot like want and it felt a bit selfish to not just constantly fall to his knees and thank _whoever_ for sending her to New York and him and this entire family.

“It shouldn’t end like that,” she whispered, squeezing his hand slightly. “Tell Gina one more. Scarlet will be thrilled.”  
  
“Phillip might actually pass out on the ice,” Killian muttered, talking so he didn’t do something stupid like dissolve into _emotion_ in the middle of the bed. “He looked like he was going to cry during handshakes too.”  
  
“If you don’t think Mattie didn’t immediately point that out to me, then you’re not nearly as perceptive as you claim to be.”  
  
“Smart kid.”  
  
“It’s because he’s determined to be you.”

Killian’s stomach flipped and he pressed the heel of his foot into the blanket it was still wrapped up in so he didn’t just start making out with his wife in between both of their kids.

“I didn’t send anything out,” Emma added, sounding a bit like she was sharing classified secrets of the New York Rangers community relations department. “About you or even Robin for that matter. Ruby and I decided last week. We weren’t going to do anything until, at least, after the Cup. Whoever won that.”  
  
“You are incredible, you know that?” Killian asked and the words fell out of his mouth as soon as he thought them, only just managing not to actually shout them at her. That would have woken up both kids.

“What a line.”  
  
“The absolute, honest truth.”  
  
Emma shifted against him, trying to find a way to burrow her head against his shoulder when she was still on her back with someone else’s arm flung over her stomach, but it almost kind of worked and she’d moved enough that his lips could find the top of her head with relative ease.

“One more?” she asked again and Killian took a deep breath before he answered.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “One more.”  
  
Regina wasn’t surprised – shrugging a quiet _obviously_ when he told her two days later – and both Phillip and Will had shouted, knocking over several stools along the bar in the back corner of the restaurant, screaming until Matt had joined, yelling even louder when Scarlet lifted him onto his shoulders with practiced ease.

He came back.

A one-year deal with a player option for a second because Regina was, well, Regina and there were plenty of headlines – plenty of speculation and just a few mutterings that it felt a bit desperate, particularly after the _last ride_ tour the season before.

And it wasn’t perfect that first season, but the second, _the second season_ , the last season, they kept winning.

They won the President’s Trophy and that rookie was incredible, just as fast as Killian, still, inexplicably was, breaking Phillip’s scoring record with a month left in the regular season.

They kept winning and Matt and Peggy had been in the stands when they’d clinched the conference finals at home, Killian absolutely refusing to touch the Prince of Wales trophy when he posed for pictures.

He was half certain Matt hadn’t worn anything except his jersey for the better part of the last month.

And now, he was frozen in front of his locker, teammates playing soccer in the hallway and he could vaguely make out Scarlet’s arguments about hand balls or something he probably didn’t understand, Emma on his side with a hopeful smile on her face and her hand wrapped up in his.

Game five at the Garden.

They could win.

“Scarlet’s going to kill himself,” Emma mumbled, leaning her head on the side of his shoulder and he hadn’t actually put his jersey on yet.

“He’s old, that’s why.”  
  
“Don’t let him hear you say that, he’ll probably check you into the boards during warmups.”  
  
“He’d have to catch me first.”  
  
Emma grinned at him, tugging her head up sharply and her hair shifted off her shoulders when she moved, a flash of green eyes and confidence and absolute certainty. He was going to score four goals – at least.

“There’s that confidence,” she said, hooking her finger underneath the front of his pads.

He probably should have kissed her. All things considered, that probably would have made the most sense, but he suddenly realized Emma was sitting next to him in front of his locker and they were only a little over an hour off of puck drop and she probably should have been anywhere else except sitting next to him in front of his locker.

There was an event outside and fans to relate to and towels to hand out.

He hoped their kids got towels.

Emma absolutely made sure their kids got towels.

“Not that I’m not glad you’re here, Swan,” Killian started, letting her hair fall over the tips of his fingers, “but why are you here?”  
  
She laughed, shaking her head slightly and pulling away from his hand and there was a protest on his lips for half a moment – before she tugged the hand back down and wrapped her fingers around his.

There was something just a bit _off_ about it though, the smile not quite reaching her eyes, and Emma’s lip was in between her teeth, gaze falling to the unlaced skates on Killian’s feet.

“Swan,” Killian repeated and her head practically snapped up at the sound. “How’s the stuff outside?”  
  
“Crowded.”  
  
“That seems good.”  
  
“It is,” Emma agreed. “For sure. I’ve got, like, a ridiculous amount of video of Mattie scoring on that virtual reality thing. Although I’m not sure we should do that anymore because he seems pretty convinced he can actually score on an NHL goal now and get drafted like..tomorrow.”  
  
Killian chuckled slightly, but she still hadn’t really answered his question – and she was still talking.

“Plus, here, here, I know you’re supposed to be focused, but seriously, look at this,” Emma continued, shifting on the seat to tug her phone out of her back pocket and push it into his chest.  
  
The jersey was absolutely enormous.

It was close to touching the ground, covering Peggy’s knees and just above her ankles and Killian didn’t even have to look at her shoulder to know there was a ‘C’ there, far too preoccupied with the excitement on her face and the blue and white pom poms in her hands.

“Where did she get any of this?” Killian asked and Emma rolled her eyes.

“Your brother and El apparently bought out Chase Square. Mattie’s got a new jersey too. That, however, took a bit more convincing. It was like Henry 2.0.”  
  
“Jeez,” he muttered.

“They’re excited.”  
  
“Who? Liam and El or our kids?”  
  
Emma’s eyes flashed again and he’d done it partially for the reaction and partially because it was absolutely true and an absolutely legitimate question.

The answer was probably Liam.

“The compromise in all of this was for Mattie to wear _his_ jersey under the new jersey as some kind of double-force good luck charm. There was a very long explanation and probably could have used a PowerPoint if we had time, but, suffice it to say he’s certain you’re going to score, and I’m quoting here, forty-two goals.”  
  
“Forty two,” Killian repeated, quirking an eyebrow and Emma nodded seriously. “Seems a little high, don’t you think?”  
  
“Eh, I don’t know. Par for the big-moment course or something, right? Correct me if I’m wrong, Cap, but did you not hat trick during an Olympic gold medal game?”  
  
“Ah, but that was different. That was for more than the game.”  
  
“Isn’t this?” Emma asked and he would have heard the question _behind_ the question even if she were still at her event and he was on the ice and the entire goddamn Garden was screaming.

“Silly question,” he muttered.

He kissed her after that – it would been _ridiculous_ not to.

And he could hear her breath hitch against him, that very particular noise in the back of her throat lingering in the back of his brain long after they stopped making out in the middle of the Rangers locker room.

“How many times do you think we’ve actually made out in here?” Emma asked, fingers still tangled up in his hair and the front of his pads and Killian nearly fell off the bench.

“Hundreds? Is that a lot?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s been awhile, right? If we were counting everywhere in the Garden it’s got to be in the thousands. God, does that make us the worst professionals in the whole world?”  
  
“Eh, maybe not if we win.”  
  
“We’re totally going to win.”  
  
“Emma Swan, optimist.”  
  
“Emma Jones, optimist,” she corrected softly and Killian’s heart leapt into his throat and possibly out of his mouth and, promptly, landed in front of Emma where it had been for the better part of the last ten years.

He kissed again – unable to come up with any reason not to – and they’d somehow managed to twist their legs together, determined to get that extra half an inch closer to the other. “Why are you here, love?” he asked again and she scowled at him.

“It really did almost have something to do with making out.”

He was half a breath away from something slightly sarcastic, an offer to make out just a bit more before puck drop, but he opened his mouth and his breath rushed out of his lungs and Emma smiled as soon as he figured it out.

“Hat trick,” she said said softly.

Killian’s laugh was shaky at best and that was _stupid_ because he was so goddamn happy he couldn’t quite remember that there was still a hockey game to play.

He had to leave this locker room eventually.

“Emma,” he said before he could stop himself and she made a face, twisting her mouth slightly at her own name.

She nodded, pulling herself closer to his side and he worked his arm around her waist without even thinking about it, hand falling back on her stomach without a word.

“A blueberry,” Emma continued. “That’s what I’m...guessing she and or he is. Depending on timing, or whatever. We should go to the doctor after you win a Cup. I’m thinking...Christopher. Goes good with William.”  
  
His heart was racing impossibly fast – it felt like he’d just tried to outrun getting checked by Scarlet – and the muscles in his face were going to cramp from smiling so much, but it felt like the entire world had flipped in that moment and those seemed like acceptable prices to pay for a third kid.

A third kid.

They were going to have a third kid.

“Seven weeks?” Killian asked, trying to think back to websites and they hadn’t really been trying, again, but they hadn’t really been avoiding it and maybe he’d go buy out the rest of Chase Square after the game.

“God, why do you remember that?” Emma muttered, but she hadn’t moved away from him, hitching her leg up over the top of his thigh.

Killian shrugged. “It’s important, Swan.”

“You’re a giant, sentimental sap, you know that? With an internet addiction.”

“I’m trying to stay informed.”  
  
“Internet. Addiction.”  
  
He rolled his eyes and he’d always kind of known it would be like this – knew they understood each other in some kind of meaningful, overpowering way, but it was, somehow, still more than that. It was giant and sentimental and chock full of that sap he’d been accused of because, at some point, they stopped understanding what the other had been through and started looking forward to what they were building together.

Ten years and, maybe, three Cups and, now, three kids later and they’d survived headlines and internet rumors and several incarnations of laces around her wrist and Killian was certain he loved her more than he did that very first moment in the brownstone.

The pillow was sitting in the corner of their bedroom.

Still.

“Hey,” Emma muttered, tugging lightly on his pads. “You….you’re good? Like with this? The hat trick or the first line or whatever? That’s as many hockey metaphors as I could come up with on the way over here.”

“Both metaphors are fine, love. And, yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t it be good? Or the best?”  
  
“The best?”  
  
“The best.”  
  
She made a face, scrunching her nose and keeping her lip in between her teeth. “Blueberry, blue-seat blue,” Emma whispered.

“Seems like a sign.”

“Are we into that? Fate seems kind of lame, doesn’t it?”  
  
“Ask me that question after the game, Swan.”  
  
She did.

She barely kept her balance on the ice when they opened the far doors, tugged along by two kids and a whole battalion of Jones jerseys – all of them racing towards Killian with smiles on their faces and their arms through in the air and they’d _won_. Again.

Hat trick.

And it was different than the first two – kids jumping on top of him and over him and Peggy nearly choked him on the ice before Will had finished skating around with the Cup, screaming in his ear when they started pumping music through the Garden speakers.

“Dad, we won! We won,” Matt screamed, landing hard on the ice when he tried to climb up Killian’s side. Emma rolled her eyes, bending down to haul him back up and pull him tightly to her side. He didn’t seem to notice, still talking a mile a minute against her side, detailing everything from the final minute of play to Killian’s goal and _when’s the parade, don’t we get a parade_.

“Relax, kid,” Emma laughed, nodding when he moved back towards Roland who caught him without even breaking his stride on the ice.

“God, you’re enormous,” Roland said, pushing Matt away from him to muss his hair and work a groan out of the eight-year-old. “Hook, stop feeding this kid so much.”  
  
“If memory serves, mate, you were just as big at eight and just as enthusiastic about winning a Cup,” Killian muttered and he was dimly aware of the camera shutters when he skated towards Roland Matt.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”  
  
“That teenage angst knows no bounds, huh?”  
  
Roland made a face and Emma laughed, inching closer to his side and wrapping an arm around his waist, the other hand carding through the end of Peggy’s hair. “You went pretty fast, Hook,” Roland continued and if Killian wasn’t already certain his heart was still sitting on the locker room floor, he would have been positive it fell on the ice at the sound of the nickname and the age-old compliment.

“Not completely washed up yet.”  
  
Roland rolled his eyes. “You want to race, Matt?” he asked, pushing on the kid’s shoulder again and Matt’s eyes practically light up.

He nodded quickly and Killian hadn’t noticed he was already wearing skates.

“When?” Killian asked, glancing down at Emma.

“Five minutes left in the third. When you guys went up by two. He was convinced it was a win.”  
  
“Efficient.”  
  
“Confident.”

“Come on, Rol,” Matt whined, tugging on the front of Roland’s jersey and _he_ wasn’t wearing skates. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”

“Fine, fine,” Roland sighed, crouching low with his toes pressed into the ice. “Ready, go!” He was off half a second later, pushing back on Matt’s shoulder to give himself a head start and Matt only screamed about _cheating_ for half a second before sprinting after him.

He almost beat him.

“First round,” Killian muttered, kissing the top of Emma’s head. Peggy mumbled against his shoulder, pushing her forehead against his neck and Killian tightened his arm, hugging her closer to her chest. “You tired, little love?” he asked, leaning back to meet her eyes.

Peggy shook her head, huffing an exasperated sound that didn’t sound particularly five and a half, and Killian lifted his eyebrows. “I want to race too,” she grumbled.

That wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting.

Emma fell against his chest, body shaking with laughter and Killian gaped at his daughter – he probably should have expected exactly that answer.

“They’ll all go in the first round,” Emma mumbled. “That’s obviously the only answer.”  
  
“Obviously,” Killian agreed. He turned quickly, and the music was still blaring and there were still a questionable number of Jones jerseys on the ice, Liam tugging El along the boards while Lizzie chased after Matt and Roland and Henry had both hands on the twin’s shoulders, pulling them towards Will and the Cup.

Robin kept taking pictures – his phone held loosely in his hand while his thumb just kept tapping on the screen like he couldn’t decide what to focus on.

“What?” Emma asked softly, the sound shooting down Killian’s spine and landing right in the very center of him, some kind of metaphorical flame that probably could have melted the ice they were standing on.

“You happy, Swan?”

The smile inched across her face slowly, eyes meeting his and they’d _won_ – in some kind life-changing way that didn’t really include hockey.

“Incandescently,” she answered, tongue pressing into the corner of her lips and he exhaled, trying to press the sound of her voice and the look on her face into his memory. “Come on, Cap, you want to race?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I think you’ve been challenged to a race, Cap. By two different Joneses, no less. Seems wrong to deny both of us.”  
  
“You’re not wearing skates, love.”

“I guess we’ll just have to team up or something then. You want to race both of us, Peg?”

“Yeah,” Peggy yelled, already trying to climb back down Killian. “Let’s go. Let’s go! Dad you’ve got to help mom skate, ok?”  
  
“No backing out, now,” Emma muttered, holding her hand out and Killian took it without a second thought.

Peggy was already halfway to the blue line. “I think we’ve been absolutely destroyed, Swan,” Killian muttered and Emma shrugged.

“Ah, worth it.” He pulled her forward, dragging her across the tiny space of ice between them and the _yelp_ she let out seemed to echo in between his ears. “What are you doing?”  
  
“I was promised a race, love.”  
  
“We lost already.”  
  
“Well, I don’t know about that. Come on, skate with me. Or, you know, glide. Whatever.”  
  
She didn’t say anything for what felt like _forever_ and Killian was half nervous she’d mutter something about _sentiment_ under her breath, but she didn’t. Emma just nodded, smile a bit softer, but just as certain when she tightened her grip on his hand.

“Yeah, ok,” Emma whispered and it sounded like a promise.

He kissed her at center ice, underneath that giant scoreboard with the music still blaring and their kids a few feet away, screaming and skating and someone was still probably holding the goddamn Stanley Cup.

That was how it was supposed to end.

Perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems oddly appropriate that this monstrosity of a chapter is the last chapter of this story because this story of hockey words and hockey feelings is just real long. And I am in a constant state of general stunned'ness over how wonderful you guys have been about this monstrosity of words. 
> 
> There's so many more ideas bouncing around my head and a whole list of prompts and I don't think I could ever stop writing about this stupid hockey team. 
> 
> Come flail on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


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